Tangent Space
by Adelaine
Summary: In the year 2056, 10 years after Batman Beyond and the JLU Epilogue, elderly Bruce Wayne unwittingly imbibes ambrosia at his own wedding and gets a reluctant second shot at life. Episodic, villain-of-the-week story. Badly described, this is a bunch of geriatric superheroes beating up a bunch of medically-accurate zombies with lots of old-people-married-nookie in between.
1. Untouchable

**Untouchable**

* * *

Bruce Wayne had just come from a routine appreciation luncheon in Metropolis. Before leaving the city, he asked his chauffeur to drop him off Central Park. He no longer visited the area often, and he was in the mood to reminisce. He walked leisurely, taking in the sights. He combed a wrinkled hand across his forehead as a breeze mussed his thinning white hair. His other hand gripped a cane, which he leaned on every now and then. It was a beautiful day.

Additional physical therapy had been Dana's—Mrs. Terry McGinnis—idea. The better to bounce his grandkids on his knee, she said. He was reluctant at first, but now glad he took her advice. The therapy worked well. He still required daily medication, but he was no longer as dependent on his cane as he once was. To his surprise, he discovered that playing with the grandkids indeed made him feel younger, as if the children had given him a new lease on life.

He arrived at the Hall of Justice. Seven colossi greeted him in the front of the building. Cold, silent and unmoving, they gazed down at him with sightless eyes. The Founders of the Justice League. At the center stood their trio: Superman, Batman to his right, Wonder Woman to his left. He had once looked like that. A symbol of fear that cut through the hearts of wrongdoers in the night. A lifetime ago.

It has been many decades since he had last contacted the League. He read about them on the papers and TV, of course, but he didn't delve into their affairs other than what was public knowledge. They did fine—better than fine, really—after he was gone.

His gaze lingered on Diana's statue. He knew he had hurt her, for a while, when he left. He suppressed the ever-present wave of regret. Things were better his way. An immortal amazon had no use for mortal relationships. He looked at how the artist had captured her hair, her nose, the curve of her jaw. No stone however precious could capture her eyes. Immaculately perfect. To the bat, the billionaire and the broken man, she was his untouchable.

He heard the projectile before he saw it. Age-old instinct kicked in, and he had enough time to warily move himself away from the point of impact. It crashed spectacularly in front of Diana's statue. Through the dust he could see a person. Movement from the other side of the park. A Lexcorp automaton hulked towards its target, lasers shooting continuously. The silhouette blocked each shot, in a stance that was vaguely familiar.

The other didn't need his help, he was certain, but he'd be damned if he just stood there like an invalid. He scanned the automaton for weak points. Quickly finding one, he threw his cane. His aim was true. The robot fizzed with a small explosion before dropping inert. He turned his glance towards his rescuee.

The statue's original stood before him in the flesh. The uniform was different. She wore pants—an improvement, he thought—but otherwise she hadn't changed. At all. He knew she would be like this, untouched by time. Knowing beforehand did not make it any less uncanny.

She looked around, puzzled. She saw the cane protruding from the automaton's joints, and her eyes followed its trajectory to where he stood. He knew the instant she recognized him. But she didn't gape at how much he had changed. As if she saw him as he always was, how he used to be.

"Batman," she greeted warmly.

He barely put his hands up in time to prevent getting bear-hugged. "None of that, princess." Her short laugh in reply electrified him.

Sirens blared in the distance. "That's the cavalry. They'll clean up here," she said as she dusted her hands off. "Let's go. What luck, I was just about to look for Terry, but you'll do. The League is a little short-staffed since everyone who's anyone is helping with the Scadrial post-war business."

"What post-war business?"

"I'll tell you en route."

Before he could protest, she swung one arm across his shoulders, another under his knees. She bodily picked him up like he weighed nothing. She gave him a dazzling smile as they shot off to the sky.

* * *

Bruce desperately tried to catch his bearings as they landed at the Watchtower. Wonder Woman actually forgot he couldn't breathe in the upper atmosphere without the batsuit. For once, he was grateful that a curse of being old was having to carry an emergency oxygen canister at all times. Damn metahumans.

Unlike Diana, Superman had not been immune to the wear of time. He had salt-and-pepper hair, but was otherwise hale. She walked to him, waving an envelope. "Here are the files from Lexcorp. I got careless on my way out, but nothing to worry about. And I brought a guest," she gestured.

Superman looked up from perusing the Monitor Womb consoles. His shock was evident on seeing his old friend, quickly suppressed. Not quickly enough. "Bruce. It's good to see you," Superman's handshake was firm. Of course.

"I'm surprised you're here, if there's an interplanetary war going on," Bruce observed.

"Scadrial has a red sun so I'm useless there. Then they figured, since I'm holding the fort, everyone else could go."

"What about you?" he turned to the girl.

"I was hurt pretty bad before the war ended. I had to recuperate on Themyscira." She pulled down her uniform to show him a large, healed gash over her left breast. "I don't normally scar this long. I'm fine," she said, as Bruce unconsciously reached for her.

He couldn't hide his frustration. "Alright, why am I here? Need I remind you all that I'm retired?"

Superman went straight to the point. His fingers deftly tapped the console, and a hologram of the earth materialized in front of them. "There's an anomaly in the earth's crust, Central Brazil, 20 kilometers underground. All our sensors indicate a wormhole." He typed again. Earth zoomed out, replaced by a map of the galaxy. "The other end is here," he indicated to a mostly empty patch of space, with a single star. "A pulsar. Its gravity is sucking out mass from this end."

"Do we know anyone behind it?" Automatically, he had donned the Batman persona.

Superman shook his head. "I don't think so. For one, we don't know of any being who could manipulate spacetime in this manner. I think it's a fluke. Like the K-T extinction event."

"This is far worse than the meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs. If that wormhole doesn't snuff out, Earth is going to implode."

"So, what do we do about it?" she asked.

"Wormholes are unstable," Bruce explained. "Remove the stabilizing field, the wormhole goes away."

"You mean, blow it up with a bomb?"

"Incredulously, yes. Needs to happen on the other side. In this case, since the cause is a pulsar, a resonator could work too. Redirect enough of its energy away." He pursed his lips in thought, "I may have something in storage that we could use."

"Right," Superman enthused. "Then I could fly through and—"

Bruce interrupted. "With the other mouth so close to the pulsar, it's a guaranteed one-way trip no matter who goes. We need to use a drone, and neither of you possess the precision to control one. Where's Cyborg?"

"He's still off-world," she answered. "Everyone is."

He sighed in resignation. "I'll have to do it."

Superman nodded, and zoomed in on Earth again. He pointed at the map. "Here are mine shafts that should lead straight to the wormhole. Who do you want as backup?" he asked. In missions like these, Superman and Wonder Woman were often interchangeable. It irritated him no end, although he'd admit it only after hell froze over.

She spoke first. "I'll go with Batman. Kal, we need you to monitor the situation from here." Her tone had no room for argument.

"Then it's settled."

* * *

Bruce stood by a wall-high window while he waited for Wonder Woman to get ready. The northern jet stream was clearly visible from his vantage point. Breath of the planet. Superman stepped beside him. He offered a cup of water, politely refused.

Clark addressed the elephant in the room. "You knew we dated for a while, right? A few years after Lois died."

Of course he knew. It was all over the tabloids. "I'd punch your face right now, if I thought you could feel it."

Superman was not apologetic. "I tried to be good for her. I really did. Although, even had I gotten over Lois by then, I don't think I could have made Diana happy. Funny how that worked out. No matter how much you pushed her away, even after she thought you betrayed her, she never stopped carrying your torch. I admit, I'm truly jealous. So much that I'd punch your face right now, if I thought you could survive it."

He placed his empty drink cup down. Except, the little lump of metal could no longer rightly be called a cup. Without another word, he turned and walked out.

* * *

The caverns were deep, dank and foreboding, so he felt right at home. The suit he wore was almost like full-body armor. The enhancements in this version functioned more for life support than anything else. The mask completely covered his face.

"You seem troubled," Wonder Woman said offhand.

He shrugged. The speech regulator installed in every batsuit lowered his speaking voice. "Everything just feels contrived, like I'm in the middle of a poorly-written fanfic. With so many megalomaniacs we've faced over the years, I never thought I'd go out with a bang fighting against..." he searched for words.

"A natural phenomenon?"

"The laws of physics and probability."

She smirked. "It is rather fitting, isn't it? Batman doing the impossible, up until the end."

The rest of the way down went slowly, but uneventfully. He ran diagnostics every kilometer. At fifteen kilometers, he didn't like the sensor readings. She didn't, either. "Those look much higher than Kal's estimate."

He agreed. "This could become catastrophic really quickly. We should hurry."

They ran out of tunnel at seventeen kilometers. She scooped her elbows under his armpits to support him, and she flew them down the abyss. At eighteen kilometers, the electromagnetic field readings went off the scale. At nineteen kilometers, all their sensors were shot.

Then they saw it, a gaping maw to nothingness. Air currents pulled them into the vacuum, and it took a lot of her control to keep them from getting sucked in. Indeed, the wormhole was already much larger than they expected—already large enough to fit a tank, not the size of a regular door like initially calculated. Too close, and they wouldn't be coming back.

He released the drone. It hovered shakily, waiting for his commands. He sent it down. About halfway to its destination, the turbulence was so bad he had to pause. They couldn't afford to mess up.

"Princess, smash some stone into fine dust and throw it towards the vortex." She did as he told. The sound of grinding rock was weak in the thin air of the cavern. He shone a light at the dust as it followed the air currents. He noted the areas of turbulence while searching for the clear pathway that would take the payload to where it needed to go.

He fiddled with the remote. The drone refused to turn. "The EMFs are interfering with the controls. Need to get closer. Move us closer whenever you see it wobble." She squeezed his chest gently in affirmation. Slowly, carefully, they flew deeper towards the vortex. The drone moved again.

Finally, after several agonizing minutes, he managed to settle the drone into the correct air current. He hit the auto switch. If he calculated correctly, and he always did, nothing should happen on this side. No spectacular explosion. The hole would just close in on itself. It was anticlimactic, really.

"You got it! Time to get out of here," Wonder Woman said enthusiastically. As if in answer, his arms went limp, and his entire body slumped like a deadweight.

"Batman?" She shook him. No response. She couldn't feel his breathing. "Bruce? Great Hera, NO!"

She carefully balled his body up in her arms and flew like a madman.

* * *

He awoke. He had half-expected not to. He sat up gingerly. His cowl was off, but he wore his complete suit otherwise. A quick assessment showed that his suit's body enhancements were fully functioning. Likely a factor why he was in the medbay and not the morgue.

The bed's headboard exploded. As splinters settled across the blankets, he found himself staring into a pair of very stunning, very angry blue eyes.

Hell hath no fury. "I thought you had died in my arms. Your life support had been cut off by EMFs even before we jumped down that last chasm. You knew—Of course you knew! You let me take you down there with everything but your oxygen shut down! How dare you—" She seethed, "Did you expect me to grin and bear it if I had flown you to your death?"

She glared at him for the longest second, and then her expression crumbled. She broke apart, a lone sandcastle standing tall at noon until it dissolved against the tides at dusk. Strong shoulders sagged, and her tears fell unchecked. He panicked.

"Shhh, Diana," he cupped her cheeks. "I'm still here, alright? I'm not going away for a while yet." Probably true, considering his recent track record. He used his thumbs to wipe at her tears.

She moved closer to him. Too close. A soft hand caressed his chest, tracing the symbol there. Her breath was warm on his neck. He couldn't stop himself. He claimed her mouth with his.

How could he have spent all his years without this? "Diana, I—"

Breathless. "Yes?"

"You make me want to kick my thirty year-old self in the butt."

She covered her mouth to hide a very unladylike snort, followed by unabashed laughter. "I prefer the current version. You've grown a sense of humor." Her mirth disappeared, and she took his hands earnestly. Twice she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. He started to pull away, but she held tight, frantic.

"Marry me," she pleaded.

That was the last thing he expected. Uneasiness crept into the pit of his stomach. The obvious reply, that she would be a widow very soon if he did, remained unsaid. He respected her too much to bring up petty arguments—the same ones he had told her, oh, so long ago—certainly she knew them before she had asked. Already it was too late for them. About time he stopped running away. It was the least he could do.

He gazed at her unchanging face, and the fates sealed around him like a coffin. He loved her. He almost cursed by the ten thousand gods he didn't believe in.

He said yes.

* * *

They were married at a non-denominational chapel in a park just outside of Gotham. It was a very private affair. Clark was present as a witness and his best man, naturally. He considered inviting Terry but decided against at the last minute—the teasing would only test his patience.

Diana had her hair tied in a knot, and wore a flowing white dress with a high gold belt in the style of ancient Greece, courtesy of her mother. Despite the short notice, Queen Hippolyta came prepared, bringing the complete set of ceremonial relics—sacred dagger, hunting horn, cornucopia. Diana balked when she suggested they perform a blood compact. Bruce suspected the queen was kidding anyway, if the subtle twitch of her lips was anything to go by.

The formal ceremony was over quickly. An exchange of vows, with the Themysciran custom of sharing wine between the couple. Bruce produced a ring—not a heirloom, as he had passed most of the family jewelry on already—but a simple piece, Martha Wayne's favorite aquamarine. He smiled, a genuine smile, as he slipped it on Diana's finger.

To those who didn't know them, they were a skewed pair. An octogenarian groom with a post-adolescent bride. Those who did know them knew the bride was by far the older.

He couldn't bring himself to be with her on their wedding night, despite her desire for him. Not that he physically couldn't. She may be able to look beyond his decrepit body, to see the man he once was—but _he_ could not.

Diana didn't force the issue. She would take whatever little he could give her. It was enough.

* * *

They spent their following days in the manor, just being lazy. Wonder Woman had taken an indefinite leave from her league duties because of the wedding. Things were slow, and as more leaguers returned from off-world, she hadn't been needed.

Bruce surveyed the manor grounds, as he did every morning at sunrise. Diana was likewise awake, roaming the manor for some new diversion. It warmed his heart a little to know she enjoyed being in his ancestral home. He chuckled at how events have come to pass. Married to a demigoddess, his princess perfect. How lucky could a man get.

A stab of guilt. He ought to take her on a real honeymoon. Somewhere nice. Dancing. She liked that. He could manage a waltz, right? Maybe she'd meet another dance partner, someone more suited to her… His mood swiftly turned black. What a farce of a marriage they had. He never should have agreed to this.

He clenched his fists as he let his emotions tumble over him. He frowned. Something felt odd. He raised his fists to look at them. His hands were steady. His hands had not been steady in years.

He searched for a mirror, and found one near the end of a hallway. His hair was growing back, the roots black. His age spots were gone, and he could swear he had less wrinkles. He took a deep breath. His leg didn't ache. He hadn't taken any medication in days, yet none of his joints gave him pain. He couldn't remember the last time he used his cane.

A sinister thought began to gnaw at the back of his mind. No… no way. What was happening to him?

 _I think I'm getting younger. Unnaturally_.

He remembered Queen Hippolyta's vaguely quizzical glance during the wedding as he took a sip from the Themysciran cornucopia. His thoughts clicked. He walked briskly through the mansion in search of his wife. He found her at his study desk in the library, deeply immersed with a copy of _Hamlet._

"Princess."

Diana looked at him inquiringly over reading glasses. She put her book down and walked over. She sensed his apprehension. "What is it, my love? Are you unwell?"

He shook his head. "I'm not unwell. In fact I am getting _too_ well. Tell me, princess. The ceremonial ambrosia. Was it just ceremonial?"

Realization came upon them both, like the shock of freezing water. "Ambrosia from the Gods. I know of the stories. You'll grow young until you're in your prime years again. You won't age, but you can still be killed. I didn't… didn't think the stories were real." She reached hesitantly to her newly immortal husband. The changes happened so gradually that she hadn't noticed, but now that she knew to look, she could see the signs in his physique.

"Bruce, I'm so sorry…" she trailed off softly. Slowly, her semblance hardened, and she looked straight up at him. Her voice trembled, "No, I'm not sorry at all. You have the rest of eternity to take it out on me."

He gripped her face, fingers shaking in an unbidden rage. For many years he had resigned himself to the inevitable—a violent death, if not succumbing to sickness or old age. He had fought an impossible battle against his degenerating body. It had taken decades for him to make his peace with the world. He was ready to die, but that choice had been taken away.

He belonged to the night. The night would be—must be—his undoing. He didn't want this. He didn't deserve this. A man like him didn't deserve… what? What was he so desperate against? Happiness?

She was the sun. She was too good for him. Polar opposites. White to his black. Light to his darkness. Incomparably splendid. Strong. Brave. Beautiful. Perfect.

Untouchable.

He saw infinity in her eyes. An infinity that loved him—the bat, the billionaire, and the broken man.

His misgivings faded away. He kissed her fiercely, letting himself fall into the eternal maelstrom that was her.

"You are all I ever wanted."


	2. Feel My Pain: A Blink in Time

**Feel My Pain:** A Blink in Time

* * *

Flight. The wind whipping her hair. The heat of the sun at midday. The fresh, salty scent of the sea breeze inhaled deep into her lungs. The endless expanse of blue ocean beneath halcyon skies. Diana clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, mentally preparing herself. The day marked her first mission after several months away from the Justice League, due to some life-changing circumstances.

Her uniform was new, first time worn, still untested. The metal eagle on her chest was original Themysciran, sewn into a tough-yet-supple polymer-blend fabric. The new pieces were made from the latest cutting-edge material that man's world had to offer, making her armor a unique mix of both ancient and ultramodern technology. The stylized short skirt was a compromise, because pants chafed, but her trademark star-spangled bloomers got soundly vetoed. Her girdle hung low on her waist, comfortable, allowing her more freedom for acrobatics. A single, thin line ran around it—reverently etched by hand, the only black in her armor of golds, reds and blues—her craftsman's mark.

In other circumstances she would be enjoying herself. Current circumstances being her team trying to avert a calamity.

 _A tsunami is coming. Get to higher ground._

The Martian Manhunter's telepathic blast thrummed loudly in Diana's mind, his thought soaring faster than any being could fly. She knew others heard him too. She quickened her flight towards the small tropical town at the center of the tsunami's path.

People were already running when she arrived. She quickly scanned the situation. The area was residential, mostly comprised of sea-front bungalows. Thankfully. This made the evacuation easier as they had to deal with a smaller crowd density.

She felt J'onn's blanket touch upon them, soothing the people's feelings of panic.

A sight somewhere to her right seized her with worry. A group of five-year olds were running, seemingly unsupervised. _A daycare!_ She saw that their teacher was indeed with them, a young woman, too inexperienced to deal with twenty crying toddlers all at once.

There was no way she could carry all twenty kids to safety in time. _Think, think!_

She swooped down towards them, shouting to get their attention. "HEY!" She smiled and made loud happy noises, trying to distract the children from their fear. "Do you guys want to play a game?"

"Wonder Woman!" one of the girls shouted in recognition. "Wonder Woman! Like my dollie!"

"Just like your shirt, too," she said. "That's my logo!"

"Yeah!"

"And you," she pointed to a boy wearing a blue shirt with an 'S' logo, "You look like Superman!"

"Yeah!"

"Let's go!" She looked around and saw a three-story building not too far from their location. The top floor should be safe enough. "The game is to run to that building over there, okay? Rules: Hold hands, no pushing or pulling, and no looking behind!"

Dutifully, the children grabbed each other's' hands, no longer fearful. She made their teacher lead while she took the rear position. They marched, as fast as the kids could go without frightening them. She kicked the door open when they got to the building. Still in single file, the kids managed to climb to the highest floor.

They just barely made it when the wave hit.

As the waters rose around the building, the kids started bawling, and this time no amount of playfulness could calm some of the smallest ones down. But that was okay, she thought. Although the building shook violently, it held, and they were safe. At the height of the water, it reached up to the middle the second floor. A few of the children reached towards her, and she pulled them up and hugged them tightly.

As the torrent began to lose momentum, J'onn's voice again spoke in their minds.

 _The second wave is here_.

She looked out a window and saw it approach In the distance. Twice as high as the first. She glanced behind at the frightened children, who could see it too.

And then her heart leapt in relief, as a small speck of orange appeared in the middle of the tsunami.

Aquaman had arrived, and he was calming the wave. Slowly but surely, the giant wall of water receded. After a while, it was completely gone.

The ocean and horizon stood calm, as if nothing had happened at all.

* * *

It took that country's Disaster Response about an hour until they got the relief centers set up in full swing. Although the property damage was significant, there were zero casualties.

Wonder Woman stayed for an interview. The Justice League could always use good publicity.

"Thank you! Wonder Woman, thank you!" Parents and the children of the daycare mobbed her as she left the interview tent, some crying, all thankful. The crowd around her had their phone cameras out. She smiled, posed for selfies, hugged some of the little ones. She bid them goodbye with a wave.

J'onn J'onzz waited for her at the beach. He had morphed back into his humanoid form. Despite living for years as a human, he still preferred his green-skinned half-human-half-martian form when dealing with League matters. Like her, that day was his first mission since coming back. He had just returned to his League duties after several months off-planet to help the Green Lanterns with an interplanetary war.

She looked around. No sign of the King of Atlantis. He hadn't stayed for the aftermath.

She acknowledged her partner, ready to return to base. "Ready to go?"

J'onn had a question to ask first. "Diana, are you wearing a new ring?" he indicated her finger. "I can feel your bliss, even from a distance. Did you and Clark…?"

A fierce blush. "No, not Clark."

A long pause. J'onn's stupefaction was evident, even on his alien countenance. "You mean… you and…? No way!" He burst into peals of laughter. "Ahaha, is that old coot still around? Given the human lifespan, I am surprised he is still alive."

"We accidentally turned him immortal. Long story."

"The whole works?"

"Just eternal youth."

"I'll bet he wasn't happy about that," he surmised (correctly), still chuckling. "Apparently I didn't return soon enough. I would've paid good money to have been there. Is he rejoining the League?"

Yes. "No." Maybe. "I don't know. We haven't made plans," she admitted. "He hasn't told me any of his own, certainly. Hey, J'onn," she emphasized, "this isn't public."

He raised an extraterrestrial eyebrow. "Wearing a visible wedding ring isn't public? I know, I know, you guys danced around each other for over half a century and you've got every right to wear whatever you damn well please." She still found it quirky whenever J'onn used euphemisms, but she remembered that he had been living among humans for nearly a hundred years now. He pointed out, "I'm just saying people are going to notice."

* * *

She arrived home well into the night. One of the French doors on the balcony leading to their bedroom was unlocked, and she quietly let herself in.

A lone floor lamp lit the minimalist study attached to their sleeping quarters. The room was conservatively furnished in a contemporary design, comprised of a desk, a sofa and a couple of bookcases. A few pieces of furniture were heirlooms, passed down through at least three generations. Cityscape paintings adorned the off-white walls opposite the floor-to-ceiling windows. A large LED TV was mounted in an inner wall. Elegant yet pragmatic, function over form with no sacrifice in style. Very much a reflection of its formerly-solitary owner.

On the antique oak desk lay the day's paper and a hastily-scribbled time sheet. Her husband didn't mind if she looked—he would not have left it in plain sight otherwise. Two meetings with two separate potential suppliers in the morning. Video conference with his CTO after lunch. A charity event at Metropolis in the evening, taking him out of their city to across the bay. More and more he was getting himself involved in the doings of his company. He had a full schedule for tomorrow.

She glanced over to their shared bed, and saw a mop of hair peeking out from under the blankets. _He still hasn't taken up the cowl_ , she realized. There was no doubt in her mind that he would, eventually. He was biding his time. Offhand, she wondered what he was waiting for, but she dismissed her curiosity. Whatever he did, she trusted him.

She took a quick shower. She walked out of the bathroom, toweling her hair.

A low growl behind her left ear. "Come to bed, princess." Firm hands encircled the skin of her waist, and he pulled her close. A thousand years on, would she still be unable to sneak up on this man? She twisted in his arms so she faced him.

Bruce Wayne, erstwhile Batman, her husband.

Fifty years after he had resigned from the League, the last thirty of which they had absolute zero contact, and she met him again as an old man. Centuries meant nothing to her, but to men like him fifty years was an entire lifetime, and her world had crashed at the realization. She was surprised at how much it had affected her. She thought she hid it well, as they went together on what ought to have been one final mission for the League.

They got married on a whim, in what for all appearances was a futile effort to grab the little time he had remaining. Instead, by some trick of her mother with the wedding rites that neither of them foresaw, his numbered days had become an eternity. A blink in time turned into forever. He was furious for a while, and guilt gnawed at her that he had not been given a choice. But by the gods, she—immortal, unchanging she—had never in her already long life felt so immensely ...happy. There was no better term for it. She was happy, and deliriously so. Months after the fact, she sometimes found herself in a daze, still unable to believe that _this_ was her reality now.

His metamorphosis was almost complete, she thought as she studied him. His face was mature but had regained a lot of his boyish charm. Hardly any wrinkles left. Masculine jaw and a full set of teeth. He bleached his hair to keep up appearances, but his dark roots were showing again. His battle scars had not disappeared, and there were many, across his arms, chest, shoulders, his back. She doubted they would, as whatever caused his changes did not imbue him with healing. But strength and sinew had returned to his broad shoulders—he would not be able to hide the changes from the public much longer. His eyes, ever bright, in that deep midnight hue she found so alluring, never left hers.

Being so near him made her light-headed. She placed her hands on his biceps and, knowing it annoyed him, lifted them both in the air. She was rewarded by that endearing set of his chin. She kissed him soundly, and they settled onto the bed. Under the duvet, she made a pillow of his arm, slid her hand across his stomach, and wrapped one long leg around his two.

"I saw you on the news. Those kids. You were magnificent." His words warmed her inside while his fingers absently played with her hair. "This is why I love you."

"I'm sure that's not the only reason," she teased.

"You're right. It's not," he answered somberly. He didn't continue.

"Hmph. You're no fun." She snuggled closer. "I love my new armor. I wore a more comfortable set during the Shang Dynasty, but it gave as much protection as a curtain. This one feels strong, yet I can move freely. Like a glove." In fact it fit a bit too well. She wasn't sure if it was a testament to how intimately he knew her body—her form, the way she moved—or his skill as a master craftsman, honed through decades of creating reality-defying body-enhancement suits for himself and the many Robins and Batgirls whom trained under him before eventually growing into their own superhero identities. Both, she decided. She pouted. "The skirt is annoying, the way it flips around."

She felt his scowl. "Hell will freeze over before I make you armored panties, your highness. Only one pair of eyes is allowed to ogle your posterior from now on. Mine." She wasn't sure if the last word referred to ogling or to the aforementioned posterior, the way he squeezed it possessively.

"J'onn found out about us today. He guessed, and said some things. I think he's right. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life in shadows. We can't hide this. Aren't we going public?"

"As much as I want to shout to the world that you are my wife, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Mmm?" she murmured quizzically, trying to ignore what he was doing with his hands. "Indulge me. Why not? Terry wears the cowl now. Even on the off chance there are any villains left alive who remember Bruce Wayne as the Bat, how could they get to you through me? I'm invulnerable. No weaknesses." She knew she said the wrong thing the moment the words left her mouth.

She was flat on her back before she could blink. His dark gaze devoured her, and his weight upon her body made heat pool in intimate places only he, her consummated husband, knew about. "Everyone has a weakness. Even you." He proceeded to prove it, with each touch, each kiss and each movement performed in the way he knew she liked best. A private dance, just the two of them, in the silent music of the night. Soon she was too helpless to argue.

* * *

The amber lights shone brightly inside the LexCorp function hall in Metropolis. Circular tables that each sat six people were scattered around the room, tastefully decorated with white table runners, daffodils and tiny tea lights. A private business affair, as par for the course, with around a couple of hundred guests in all.

A young woman stood at the podium at the far end of the room. She looked in her early twenties, but the sophisticated confidence in the way she held herself made it hard to tell her real age. Her naturally platinum blonde hair hung shoulder-length, straight and neatly combed in a no-nonsense style. Light makeup accentuated her vivid green eyes and her beige business suit fit modestly on a slim, almost thin, figure. A plain silver crucifix dangled on a matching chain around her neck. She wore no other jewelry. Her voice was soft and she spoke with an almost melodic tilt. Despite her unassuming nature, she managed to hold the rapt attention of everyone in the room.

Thus stood Lena Luthor, orphaned daughter of Lex Luthor, owner and CEO of LexCorp, one of the most valuable and influential women in the world. She was just about to finish her speech.

"... although I love Africa it feels good to be back in my homeland. From the bottom of my heart, I'd like to thank each and everyone for attending the third year founding anniversary of the Wayne-Luthor World Food Programme, _No Hungry Home_." Applause. "Now, please everyone, enjoy the dinner." She waved gently to flashing news cameras as she stepped down from the podium.

Bruce waited behind the stage in a rumpled dress shirt and pants, his white hair partially hidden underneath a beret. He slouched intentionally, partly so as not to attract too much notice to himself, partly borne out of habit. He approached her just as she climbed down the stairs. He raised one hand to get her attention, and her eyes lit up when she recognized him. She quickened her pace to meet him.

"Bruce, you're looking well."

"As are you," he greeted. "It's been a while, Lena. You're ever such a sight for my old tired eyes."

"Seriously, you look extremely well for an octogenarian. Did you jump into a Lazarus pit while I was away? Or better yet, did Wayne Enterprises discover a different fountain of youth? A legally marketable one?"

"Hah, I wish," he smirked. "No, nothing but healthy lifestyle changes. Daily multivitamins, lots of fruits and vegetables and regular exercise."

"I sincerely doubt that."

"Fine, so I take other proprietary supplements." That was the bullcrap story he had decided on when people got too curious about his newfound health.

"Any side-effects so far?"

"It makes the gender you're attracted to look even more attractive."

"Har har." She rolled her eyes. "Have you made it available yet? Will you?" Ever the businesswoman.

"Nah. It's still experimental."

"And who better to experiment on than yourself, of course." She asked mischievously, "So, tell me, is there anything new with the wifey?"

He barely concealed his reaction. "What?"

"Y'know, ArLy? Artificial limbs for the disabled," she grinned appreciatively at him, "featured on a special edition of National Geographic released last week? You're on the front cover! You look great, by the way, kudos to the photographer. Anyway, the project was in your labs for years. Then you took a personal interest, made the final schematics yourself and the project finally succeeded." She gushed with admiration. Obviously, she had read the article. He felt sheepish that he hadn't.

"Oh, that," he replied. He offered her his elbow. "Come, let's talk about it over dinner. I'm famished. Are you hungry?"

"Not very, but let me join you. It is our food programme after all."

Dinner was delicious. A few simple courses, nothing extravagant, but prepared and seasoned well. They had the table to themselves. Even old, Bruce was still very much the ladies man. He regaled her (or at least tried to) with stories of the things he had done or read about since their last event together. Lena was an excellent dinner companion, nodding at appropriate places, laughing at his jokes including the more subtle ones, and she had stories of her own to tell about her recent intercontinental trip.

They had been friends for years, ever since she took LexCorp's helm. In that time he had become somewhat of a mentor and godfather figure in her life, and he knew her mannerisms well. She had an expressive face and wore her heart out on her sleeve. It's a tough characteristic for a multinational corporation's CEO, but she somehow managed. Or perhaps it made her all the more endearing. The media loved to paint her as a benevolent angel, not to mention the advantages when forging business relationships. Doors of all sorts opened easily for Lena Luthor.

But something seemed amiss with her during their meal. After they finished eating, he took her out to the eastern porch for some privacy and fresh air. She fiddled uncertainly with her thumbs. She stood close beside him, and spoke in a lowered voice.

"Say, Bruce? Can I ask something? Well, it's quite personal."

"Go ahead."

"How do you do it? How do you keep giving and giving and not get tired of it all?"

No better answer than the truth. "I'm old. I've lived a full life. This gives me a sense of purpose while I wait for my time to come. You, on the other hand, have barely begun to walk." He regarded her, sensing an underlying premise behind the young woman's words. "Lena, you're not your father. No one tasked you to atone for his misdeeds. You've never, ever needed to."

"I know that," she replied defensively. "The food programme was never about my father. Well, maybe a little, at the beginning," she admitted. She sighed deeply. "You're right. Maybe I am trying to fix my father's mistakes. Maybe I'm trying too hard at it."

"You are not him, Lena."

"No. I am an empath. I thrive on happy thoughts. It's just that sometimes… quite often, actually… the collective despair of humanity tends to overpower… everything else."

"And that's why we're doing what we're doing," he answered her meaningfully. He hailed a passing waiter carrying a tray of champagne glasses. He grabbed one and gave it to her, which she accepted with a nod.

"Thanks. I needed to hear that. I appreciate the talk." She smiled gratefully as she held her other hand out. He took it and touched her knuckles to his lips.

"It's always a pleasure meeting you."

"See you around."

* * *

He mingled with several more people after parting with Lena, but with his purpose for the event fulfilled, he was quite anxious to head for home. Barring any emergencies at the Watchtower, Diana made a point to fly in by sunset so they could have an intimate tea party in the manor's roof deck in full view of the lake and gardens which she enjoyed.

He had discovered that his Themysciran wife arose and descended with the sun. How apropos.

That day's event made sunset tea out of the question, but he knew she would be waiting at the manor for him. The knowledge evoked a strange feeling that he was still trying to get accustomed to. Alfred—God rest his soul—had always waited for him to come home too, but it was somehow different with a wife. It wasn't a bad feeling at all, not bad at all. Just unexpected, and new.

He put on a long gray coat as he exited the function hall. Autumn was nearly over. No wind that night, but the temperatures had started to drop. By this time last year, his joints would be aching with the cold weather already. But things were different now, his life turned upside-down. He couldn't help but wonder how much more had things changed that he hadn't noticed yet.

Abruptly, he found himself mobbed by a small crowd. He was no stranger to paparazzi, and thankfully, the bunch that greeted him seemed more decent than most. A number of them carried copies of the National Geographic edition featuring himself. He chatted them up and answered all the inquiries, always civil, neutral when asked any loaded questions, and always polite. He knew from experience that the the quickest way to escape once he was caught in the middle of a crowd (short of rappelling away with his grappling hook) was to give them what they wanted, and frankly, what they wanted usually wasn't much of a problem for him. They began to disperse after he signed the magazines and posed for several photos. The reporters went away after he sent them packing with a few choice quotes.

"We're so grateful to you, Mr. Wayne," an ethnic middle-aged woman carrying a toddler approached him, last of the group. "My husband lost his legs in Kazakhstan, and thanks to your work he can walk again."

"I'm glad, Miss," he said, smiling. He shook her hand, and then the hand of the little girl.

"Thwank you! Thwank you!" the child murmured as she waved goodbye. Suddenly, an image of Diana holding a dark-haired babe flashed unbidden in his mind. He brushed the image aside, strangling the thought.

"May I have your autograph, Mr. Wayne?" A deep male voice called from behind him. A pen and another magazine was enthusiastically thrust towards his hands. Odd, he thought he had already talked to everybody. He gripped the pen while trying to think of an encouraging message to write.

He felt a sharp pain, and looked down. A tiny actuated syringe jutted above his elbow.

Poison? _No, a tranq— Shit—_

Then blackness.


	3. Feel My Pain: Pinpoints in the Dark

**Feel My Pain** : Pinpoints in the Dark

* * *

 _You are unexpectedly heavy, Mr. Wayne. And tall. Really tall. Newspaper photos could certainly be deceiving, eh?_

 _Now, where are your pills? Your pills, your maintenance pills. The ones keeping you alive, like you said in that TV interview. I don't want to accidentally kill you, you know? Well, maybe I intend to kill you later, but certainly not right now._

 _Is it in this pocket? That pocket? Drat, I can't find them. We have no choice but to substitute. What to do, what to do…_

 _Ah don't move, or you'll cause an accident. We're not home yet, oh no. We're only on the freeway. Still an hour's drive away._

 _Why don't you sleep now? Yes, just like that. Ah, I said— DON'T MOVE! You hurt my arm, you son of a— You'll pay for this—_

 _Ah, there we go. We'll clean up the blood later. Nice and sleepy. Nice and sleepy._

* * *

Sunlight streamed from the eastern windows. Diana opened her eyes groggily. She reached over to her side, searching for the familiar warmth of her partner's arm. Nothing. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and looked at his empty half of the bed.

Operational hazard of being married to a superhero, even a retired one, she supposed.

She stood up. The clock on the mantlepiece said seven a.m. Time to get ready. She went to the bathroom. Wash face. Brush teeth. She went to their walk-in closet. Underwear. Breastplate. Skirt. Belt. Boots. Bracers. She went to the vanity and combed her hair. Tiara. She went to the full-length mirror and looked at her reflection. Yep, she was still Wonder Woman. The mantlepiece clock said seven-thirty.

She turned her gaze out the window of their bedroom. The man-made lake of the Wayne estate glistened in the morning sun, its waters gray and calm. Untroubled, unlike her.

Where was he? Why didn't he say anything about not coming home?

She thought back, and figured that this would be the first time Bruce hadn't slept at the manor in the months since they were married. It was true that so far he had told her about all his doings. He left her notes on his daily company schedules. He discussed his pet projects with her at night. He had made no secret of his working out, preparing his formerly-atrophied body once more for the physical exertion that came with their chosen occupation.

Did he assume the cowl without telling her? But what business was that of hers if he did, anyway? Did she just take the assumption for granted that just because they were married now he would tell her everything? He was the Bat! Vengeance in the night! Untied, unchained, mysterious as the dark side of the moon! And he would always be. He answered to no one, not even her. Whatever he told her, he did out of respect, not obligation. She knew that coming in into their relationship, and to be honest, she wouldn't have taken him any other way.

She chided herself for double standards. She didn't tell him about her each and every mission, nor every little thing that went on in the Watchtower either. Such as Warhawk making goo-goo eyes at Aquagirl, and Clark acting …weird… towards her sometimes. Clark had always been who he was, but something had changed between them since she married Bruce. As if their friendship had gotten strained. It was especially difficult since they were the two core members of the League, the two pillars who had been present since the beginning and had never left. A rift between them could possibly tear the entire Justice League apart.

No, she took it back. She kept no delusions of her importance. The League revolved solely around Superman, like it always had ever since Batman left them to their devices fifty years ago. The League would be lessened if she left, but it would simply continue on without her. Instead, her leaving might break _him._ Like himself, she and J'onn alone of all the people who had been close to him would not die anytime soon of old age. Despite everything that has happened between them, she was still his oldest and dearest remaining friend.

She definitely wouldn't tell her husband about that anytime soon.

* * *

She realized something was indeed amiss when Kevin, their butler, stood waiting for her by the dining table. He usually left their breakfast and went off to his other duties.

"Good morning, Miss Diana." Kevin Beaumont greeted her. His bright orange hair was neat and thick horn-rimmed glasses covered a pair of sea-green eyes. Barely in his twenties, he looked otherwise average in every way. Wearing an immaculately-tailored suit, he spoke with a negligible French accent.

He was the grandson of one of Bruce's old flames, if she remembered correctly, an Andrea Beaumont. Bruce had told her the story. Kevin had arrived at the Wayne manor with nothing but a literal sack of his own clothes and two letters—one a letter of recommendation, and a more personal letter asking for financial help among other things. Bruce took the boy under his wing for old times sake, but gone were the days when he would train a Robin, so Kevin landed the long-vacant butler position. On top of his duties, Bruce had taken care of his education. He had already completed his Bachelor's and was currently taking his Master's degree in languages under scholarship from the Wayne Foundation.

It was just as well. Kevin was too mild-mannered to become a Robin or a Nightwing. Then again, you never knew. Jason Todd had been pretty mild-mannered too.

"Good morning," she replied. "Is there anything wrong?"

Kevin was uncharacteristically anxious. "Master Bruce has not returned from his convention in Metropolis. His chauffeur waited all night but he never called or returned to the parking lot." He frowned thoughtfully. "Miss, I haven't known Master Bruce for as long as you have, but in the past four years I've worked here, he has never failed to leave a message with Alfred whenever he has a change of plans. There were no messages last night."

"Alright. I'll pay Alfred a visit."

* * *

She was finally starting to get used to the batcave. It was so deep underground that it was naturally and effectively climate-controlled, with a constant temperature and humidity whatever season or weather was above ground. After her eyes had adjusted to the dark, she carefully made her way to the main computer terminal located at the center of the cavern.

One of the last few projects that Bruce and Alfred had worked on together before the latter's demise was to bestow proper speech upon the batcave computer. Every word, every utterance and syllable had been meticulously recorded in the now-immortalized voice of Alfred Thaddeus Pennyworth.

Bruce would first eat one of the batmobile's tires before ever admitting it, but she knew that, especially on Alfred's part, it had been a labor of love.

"Alfred?" she called.

"Yes, Mrs. Wayne?" The terminal came to life in front of her, and Alfred's familiar voice blared from the batcave speakers. She felt a pang at how he addressed her. She was still 'Miss Diana' the last time she went down there, not a few days ago. Bruce must have made the moniker change only recently.

"Where is Batman?"

"Which Batman?"

"Bruce."

"No location found." It was worth a shot.

"Terry. Where is Terry?"

"Terry is on an extended mission in Beijing until next month." Great, she thought sarcastically. Why was it that the people whose skill sets were suited to a particular dilemma always seem to go out of the country every time they were needed at home?

"What is Bruce's last known location?"

"The Wayne-Luthor World Food Programme Anniversary Dinner at the LexCorp Complex in Metropolis. He was reported seen with Lena Luthor."

"What is Bruce's schedule for today?"

"8 a.m. Breakfast with Diana. 10 a.m. Meeting with Wayne Enterprises CTO. 3 p.m. Weight training. Rest of day unscheduled."

That didn't make sense. Well, other than his impunity to schedule their breakfasts together. In other circumstances she would have found it sweet, but right then she was too uneasy. He should have been home.

Her league communicator vibrated. She put it to her ear. "Wonder Woman."

Superman's voice spoke from the other end. "Cruise ship ambushed off the coast of Somalia. Target is a South Korean V.I.P. Not ordinary pirates, they were ready for us. Warhawk is hurt. Need backup stat."

"Send me the coordinates."

"Just track my comm."

"On my way."

* * *

When she arrived, most of the lifeboats had already ejected and half the cruise ship was on fire.

She beelined to the red cape with the giant 'S'. Clark briefed her on the situation. Green lantern had already retreated, taking the remaining hostages and the injured Warhawk with him. They had about twenty pirates on their hands, each armed with machine guns. Some carried unorthodox weapons like bola launchers. At least one had an RPG.

Strategy: divide and conquer. She nodded. He went starboard, she went port.

One punch, one pirate. She managed to get five down in short order.

Several bolas shot simultaneously towards her, and three of them found their mark. She fell flat on her face on the ship deck, bound by her arms and legs. Clark was right, these guys were indeed ready for the Justice League. Whatever material they used in the ropes was so tough she couldn't break it with her brute strength. She could still fly, however. She levitated, then scanned around for a way to break the ropes off. She saw Superman.

"Kal! Help!" She shouted. Clark turned around, searching for her voice. He saw her. She wiggled her bound arms at him. Twin lasers burned the ropes off of her wrists and legs, the heat ineffective on her impervious skin.

She was peppered with bullets. They bounced off her skin, her breastplate and bracers, but the rest of her armor did not escape unscathed. She cursed viciously when she spied a hole in her skirt by the right hip. Her expression blackened further when she remembered that her armorer was currently missing.

She was oh so much not in the mood for this sort of crap at the moment.

She flew to the stern of the ship, where she came upon several very convenient container vans. She picked out the largest. With a grunt, she lifted it into the air.

Back to the fighting, Clark was still holding his own. The thing about fighting on ships was that there was only so much space to move around in. The remaining pirates were grouped together close enough to her liking.

She unceremoniously dropped the humongous crate on their heads.

And that was that.

* * *

Superman had a bit of explaining to do with the local authorities considering the damage that resulted to the cruise ship. Luckily, the V.I.P. they saved was beholden to them and helped smooth things over. If the Justice League had not arrived, the situation might have ballooned into an international fiasco.

"That was brutal, especially for you." Clark didn't mince words when he got her alone afterwards.

Diana was unapologetic. She sniffed, "They were wearing helmets. Nobody died." And then her expression changed into a somber one. "Bruce didn't come home last night."

"Oh. Should we worry?"

"I don't know yet. He was last seen with Lena Luthor."

"Lena's a good guy."

"I know."

"What are you going to do?"

"Kal, can I ask a favor?"

"Anything."

She looked straight up into the clear blue sky. "I'll tell you up there."

* * *

It has been a few hours since she dragged Superman up into stratosphere to search for her husband using his x-ray vision.

"Still nothing?" she asked anxiously.

Clark shook his head as they looked down towards the earth below. "Nothing. I've scanned Gotham, Metropolis, twenty other major cities and ports. Nothing. You know, this isn't the first time he disappeared on us. I don't need to point out that last time he did this, we didn't hear from him for over thirty years."

"He wasn't my husband back then." She bit her lower lip thoughtfully, "I guess I'm still new to this whole 'being married' thing. I don't know what to expect or how I should act. Lois worried for you every night you're late coming home, wouldn't she?"

"That's not exactly a fair comparison."

"Isn't it? What makes it any different?" She looked straight at him, her eyes bright. Two sapphire pinpoints in the darkness of space. "I'm sorry, Kal."

Lois Kent had died many years ago after a protracted battle with lung cancer. She and Clark had no living children.

"It's alright," Clark answered. In the thin air of the upper atmosphere, she felt more than heard his sigh. "I'll do another scan," he conceded, although his expression said he didn't think much would come out of it. He gave her an affectionate hug. Maybe a little more affectionate than was strictly proper. "Keep your chin up. He's Batman."


	4. Feel My Pain: Untraceable

**Feel My Pain** : Untraceable

* * *

 _What is this… makeup? You're wearing really thick makeup. Your hair is bleached. You are… young. Are you really Mr. Wayne? Has the real one died and been swapped with an imposter? I can't imagine her playing along with that scheme, so I'll assume you're the real deal for now. It doesn't matter, I suppose._

 _My, those are a lot of scars. I do mean a lot. Did you fight in a war when you were young? Tortured, maybe? All over your chest. There's a huge one right here on your abdomen… and a matching scar at your back. Spear impalement? Looks like it went clean through you. It barely missed your kidney, probably. Lucky to survive this one._

 _Gah, scars all over your legs too. Another big one by your left hip. That must have been one hell of a war._

 _Don't struggle, or I'll have to hurt you, and it'll be your fault, yes? This is so unexpected, I didn't prepare for you to be… healthy… I guess it can't be helped. Aah, this is actually a good thing, really good, I can up your dosage without worry. Let's try doing that now, shall we? Yes, nice, it's time to sleep…_

* * *

The sun was setting over the outskirts of Gotham on that cold autumn day. Barbara Gordon stood with a group of policemen by the side of a road, where a gray ten-year old sedan was parked. The sedan doors were open, as if it had been abandoned. Barbara held a large gray trenchcoat in one hand.

Wonder Woman flew down near the commissioner. "Thanks for coming over," Barbara greeted. "Not in uniform?"

"It's my day off," Diana replied.

Barbara motioned to the car. "Gotham plate. This car was reported stolen about a month ago. We found this in the back seat. Your husband's coat." Barbara handed it to her. Ah, so Barbara was in the know. "How long has it been since you last saw him?"

"Four days and nineteen hours."

"And you didn't report this to us?"

"I wasn't sure if I should. You know him. He'll disappear for weeks only to turn up in a Russian bunker or some such place." She looked at the car thoughtfully. "Maybe… just maybe, now I have a reason to worry."

"Alright."

"Barbara, wait. You're not going to search for him?"

Barbara shook her head in the negative. "We don't have the manpower to spare. Not for this. There's nothing here to indicate foul play other than that coat, and the owner of the coat has not been reported missing. All evidence suggests a cut-and-dried carnapping." She shrugged. She lowered her voice, "Besides, I can't imagine what kind of diabolical criminal could hold Batman—even a geriatric one—against his will. If such a criminal existed, the Justice League is in a much better position to help him anyway."

Off to the side, a voice called, "Hey! Hey, that's my car! You found my car! Give it back!" A police officer approached them to talk to the commissioner, carrying a clipboard.

"Please excuse me," Barbara said. "I need to see to this."

Diana held the coat to her chest with both arms and flew off.

* * *

The second floor west wing library of the Wayne manor was hers. Two months upon moving in, Bruce had converted a small section of the library for her into a compact study/office where she could get League paperwork done if she needed to. Her olive-wood desk was complete with a laptop, second monitor, an old-fashioned phone, and various paper notepads and supplies. She had spent the past few days there outside of her League duties.

For the umpteenth time Diana played the LexCorp CCTV footage again. She had hacked into the LexCorp system to retrieve it three days ago.

The camera was pointed at the event hall doors. She watched as Bruce exited the event hall, wearing the same coat that Barbara had retrieved from the stolen car. She saw as he was mobbed by paparazzi and fans with the National Geographic magazines. The crowd started moving to the left of the camera. A woman with a child approached. Bruce smiled at them and the three of them continued walking. A tall man in a hat and coat carrying another National Geographic magazine followed them. Then the entire group went offscreen.

She found no other relevant CCTV feed.

For the umpteenth time she reached for the phone, only to stop midway. Call Lena and ask if Bruce had said anything. She wanted to shriek in frustration. If only he had agreed to go public with their marriage she could have made myriad inquiries days ago without worrying about gossip. She cursed. Gossip and Bruce's wishes be damned. She dialed Lena. A LexCorp secretary answered, and after finding out who the caller was, promptly forwarded her to Lena's personal line.

"Hi," Lena's cheerful voice spoke from the other end. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, Diana?"

"Hey. I'm just wondering if you've heard from Bruce Wayne recently."

"Are you on another fishing expedition? We're only working together on the Food Programme. No new collaborations and nothing planned for the next six months. Why, is the Justice League interested?"

"I didn't mean that. You last saw him at the anniversary dinner, right? Did he tell you anything unusual?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself? Aren't you and Bruce good friends? Like, really really good friends? He thinks no one notices but he goes ga-ga over you whenever you're on the news."

"What?"

"You were on TV when Bruce and I had a working lunch last month. The Central City factory fire. He thinks he hides it well but inside he went bonkers. Can't tell if it was worry or admiration, probably both. He's been doing that for years. I'm sure he won't mind my spilling it."

She remembered that Lena was an empath, and a very strong one. Attuned to feelings and emotions. She wondered if Lena could pick up on her feelings right now. "I haven't been able to contact Bruce in the past few days. He was last seen with you at the anniversary dinner."

"I see." A short pause, as if Lena was thinking. "We didn't talk about anything extraordinary. Mostly we just talked about his Nat Geo article."

"Did he say if he was going anywhere afterwards?"

"He was eager to get home, as far as I could tell. Hey, you're so worried I can sense you over the phone. Is Bruce missing?"

"Yes." She didn't want to admit it. Suddenly it hurt to finally say it aloud. "Yes, he is missing."

"Have you hacked my CCTV footage already? I'll have my people send it to you if you haven't."

"Yes, I did, three days ago," she grimaced. "I'm sorry. The footage wasn't very useful."

"Look, Diana, it's okay. I know we haven't exactly been friends. We've butted heads often enough, and we'll probably continue to do that—but, y'know, I know the League only has good intentions."

"Thanks. By the way, I'm sorry about the automaton I busted up."

Lena giggled. "Heh. You guys keep my scientists sharp. I'll send you a bill if you're _really_ sorry."

"Uhm—"

"Just kidding. Hope Bruce turns up soon. Bye."

That was surprisingly easy, she could kick herself. Unfortunate that it turned out to be a dead end.

* * *

Later that day, at the dinner table, Kevin handed her a package. Her first indication that something was wrong was the recipient name. It was addressed specifically to a Diana P. Wayne.

The rectangular package was about as long as her arm. No return address. Earmarked by the Gotham Postal Service. Postage paid all in stamps—Gotham stamps. She tore the cardboard open.

It was a portable cassette player. She had not seen one of these in sixty years. A chill crept up her spine at her second indication that something was, indeed, terribly wrong.

Phone calls, voice mail, email, social media messages could all be tracked to its source. A decades-old working cassette could not. It was more likely to be found in someone's grandparent's attic than in antique or junk shops. The most she could hope for was that the perpetrator had been careless and left fingerprints. She could get as far as the post box it had been dropped at, but the trail may end there. Sixty years ago she would have had more options. She would have been able to track its source down herself, via various investigation channels. But all those methods were gone now, rendered obsolete by the passing of technology. In the modern age of smartphones, big data and 24/7 interconnectivity, relics such as this were effectively untraceable.

She checked if batteries were included, and indeed they were. She pressed the play button.

 _Diana Prince,_ said a deep male voice. _But that's not your name anymore, is it?_

Her insides turned to ice.

 _Do you know that marriages are public records? I was browsing the website of the Office of Vital Statistics one day when I came across a marriage registration dated the 14th of August 2056, of one Diana Prince to Bruce Wayne of Gotham City._

 _Why him?_

 _Was Superman not good enough for you? How about the King of Atlantis? One of the Green Lanterns? Was there no other metahuman hero or alien emperor to choose?_

 _Instead you picked a senile old man with nothing to recommend himself but money._

 _If I kill him and give you a million dollars, will you marry me too?_

 _Will I also turn young and immortal?_

 _He bought you, didn't he? He bought you! And you let him buy you! You sold yourself for money!_

 _Do you know what it's like to wake up in the morning knowing that the goddess you have worshipped all your life is nothing but a gold-digger? No better than a common whore!_

 _You're a fu— fa— a disappointment!_

 _I waited three days for you before sending this message. It should now be the fourth day since I took your husband. Are you even looking for him?_

 _Why haven't you found us yet? Why haven't you found me?_

 _I'm getting tired of waiting._

Numb. She was numb. She was way in over her head. No shame in strategic retreat. No shame in accepting help. Now was not the time for her stubborn warrior pride that she could handle this problem alone.

She ran, jumped out the nearest open window, and flew like mad to the Watchtower.

* * *

Clark looked up from his terminal as the door of the monitor womb opened. J'onn likewise stood up from his seat.

Diana's blue eyes were wild. "Bruce has been kidnapped. Pull it out of my mind, J'onn. I can't bear to listen to it again right now."

J'onn concentrated. "Well?" Clark wanted to know.

"Looks pretty bad," J'onn answered. "I'm going to scan for him. If he is alive, I will find him." Pause. "He's not in Gotham or Metropolis." The second pause was far longer. Much too long. Clark and Diana looked at each other as they caught on to what J'onn was doing.

A planet-wide telepathic scan. All twelve billion minds of humanity.

J'onn's body shivered, and Diana and Clark simultaneously rushed to his side. He fell from the exertion, and they helped him sit down.

"Odd. I cannot find his consciousness," J'onn said after he had recovered.

"What?" Clark exclaimed. In the background could be heard the continuous murmur of ventilation ducts and the beeping of the monitor womb consoles. "How is that possible?"

"I cannot sense him at all. Either is not on earth, or he is no longer alive, or he is in such a deep state of unconsciousness that his mind is completely blank. It must be deeper than a normal sleep, else I would have caught onto his dreams. The kind of sleep induced by a very strong sedative, or medical anaesthesia."

They looked at each other in silence as the implications sank in. Clark announced, "This is official League business now. J'onn, you're investigation lead. Diana, tell us everything you know."


	5. Feel My Pain: Macabre

**Feel My Pain** : Macabre

* * *

 _What does she see in you? There's still a part of me that can't believe she would stoop so low as to marry for money._

 _Blackmail? Did you blackmail her? Maybe that's it. Did you point a nuke towards Paradise Lost? I wouldn't put it past you. What power do you hold over my goddess that she would even give you the gift of eternal youth?_

 _I hate you, Mr. Wayne. Yes, I do believe I will kill you when this is all over. You still bleed, so apparently the youth was the extent of it._

 _You've wet the sheets again. This won't do at all. You are quite, quite filthy now. I suppose it's a consequence of being under a constant intravenous drip. No no no, we're not taking it off, not for a long while yet. Here, let me change your sheets. I think I'm almost out of clean ones._

 _I have to admit, once we took off your makeup, you are good looking. Not to mention rightfully endowed. Is this why she chose you? Of all things, ha ha ha…_

 _I never stood a chance, did I? Never stood a chance…_

* * *

It has been seventy-two hours since Diana had run to the Watchtower for help. Superman had taken her off field duty until the case was solved, so instead she spent her League shifts in the monitor womb while J'onn followed the case leads down on earth.

J'onn had managed to talk to the paparazzi and the woman and child from the LexCorp CCTV footage. He had combed the LexCorp function hall and the surrounding areas for clues. He had interviewed the owner of the car where Bruce's coat had been found. He had traced the cassette player to the post box where the package had been dropped. He even visited Lena, who had graciously agreed to a mind probe. In every lead they could follow, he had come up empty.

Seventy-two hours on, and they were still clueless.

The cassette player lay in front of her terminal. She forced herself to listen to it again, hope upon hope that she had simply missed something.

 _I'm getting tired of waiting._

Again. She grit her teeth and listened to the message again. And then the voice triggered a memory.

 _Why haven't you found us yet? Why haven't you found me?_ "Hey! Hey, that's my car! You found my car!"

The man who owned the stolen car.

 _J'onn!_ Her thoughts screamed. She projected her mind, knowing he would easily pick up her train of thought, in images too fast for her to bother with words. _What's the address!?_

 _18 Wallace Street in Brooksville. Do you need backup?_

 _Yes!_

She broke the sound barrier. The address took her to the poorest, farthest suburb of Gotham. She saw the gray sedan where Bruce's coat was found, parked in a garage with the broken gate. The front door was unlocked, and she went in. To the right of the living room was an open kitchen. A door to a bathroom. The place had only one other room. She headed there. The sight she saw as she opened the bedroom door would burn into her retinas for a long while.

Wall-to-wall posters of herself were distinguishable even in the dim light. Newspaper clippings. Press release flyers. Justice League promotional calendars. Probably all the official and unofficial merchandise they had released of her over the past twenty years. At one corner of the room was propped a blow-up doll, crudely painted to look like Wonder Woman in armor—was it used? She couldn't tell, and refused to think about it. The centerpiece was a larger-than-life poster of her that they released during the fiftieth anniversary of the Justice League, where she wore a white ceremonial uniform. Plastic replicas of her weapons were arranged around it—shield, sword, lasso. A single lamp shone above, directly illuminating her image.

Right below the macabre shrine, upon a thin mattress, naked, covered with nothing but a filthy sheet, lay the unmoving body of her husband. An intravenous plastic tube twined around his arm, connected to bagged cocktail of dextrose and drugs that kept him constantly sedated.

"You certainly took your time." A voice called from somewhere to her left. "Do all goddesses do that?"

A man stood across the room from the other side of the shrine. Probably in his late twenties. Thin, but not quite bony. Nondescript. Brown hair. Steel-framed round glasses. Someone she would easily pass on the street and forget about in seconds. Except for the glock he held in his hand.

Diana boldly stepped into the room and addressed him, "I'm not a bleeding heart like Superman. I've killed before. I swear I will kill you if you don't release him now."

"Oh, I know you will. In fact I anticipated that. You see that little vial attached to one of those tubes? Animal tranquilizer, not for human use. Can take down a full-grown gorilla. It's linked to this little heart monitor here." He tapped at his chest where a small squarish bump protruded from under his shirt. "When my heart stops, so will his."

She glanced at the body, then at the man. Thoughts flew over her mind in an instant. Could she disarm the tranq and simultaneously protect Bruce from the gunshots? Could she rush him, take the gun and keep him from disconnecting the heart monitor? She had just said it—she wasn't Superman. She was fast but not that fast. Dare she risk it? Bruce had only one life.

The man waved the pistol at her. "Goddess, goddess, kneel before me, my goddess."

For the longest moment, she held still. Then, deliberately, she lowered herself. Down onto one knee, then on two.

"Take off your breastplate," he screamed. "Take it off! Humiliate yourself for me!"

Palms inward, she haltingly raised her hands over to her chest. Her shaking fingers clutched at the golden Themysciran eagle.

"No, stop! No, no, my goddess is pure, like I am. Not like this filth." He walked over to the mattress and kicked at an unmoving leg so hard it would later bruise. "You're invulnerable. I can't hurt you. Instead… what if I do this?" He pointed the pistol directly at the exposed abdomen. "If I hurt him, if I kill him, will you feel it? Will you feel this, my goddess?"

This puny little insect holding the gun was nothing to her. She could crush him into pulp. She could grind his bones to powder. Tear him apart from limb to limb. Rip his heart out through his throat with her bare hands and not break a sweat. Instead, a disembodied voice that sounded just like hers spoke. "Don't kill him! I'll give you anything you want!" The room blurred as her eyes suddenly had trouble focusing. The voice continued, from far away, not under her control, "Take my body. Make love to me. I'll do anything, just let him go."

"You'd do that?" he stammered. But the gun held steady. "No," he said. The room spun, and a void opened in the pit of her stomach.

"No, I can make love to you ten thousand times and you will not feel a single thing. You say you'll do anything? Then I want you to feel. Feel me. Feel my pain."

He pointed the gun inside his own mouth and shot.

Many things happened at once. Fast as sound, she leapt to Bruce's prone form and yanked out the plastic tubing on his arm. Blood spurted like a crimson snake and she pressed her thumb against the wound. The southern wall imploded as Superman and the Martian Manhunter arrived at the scene. Police sirens blared in the distance.

He was alive. He wouldn't move. He wouldn't wake up. He was alive. She cradled him in her arms and whispered his name over and over like a mantra.

Clark looked around the room, noting Diana and Bruce, the dead body, and the room's lurid paraphernalia. He shivered involuntarily, not from cold.

"Go on, get out of here," J'onn said. "I can take care of things from this end."

Clark nodded. With some effort Diana managed to compose herself. She wrapped the sheet tightly around Bruce's hips and midsection so it wouldn't fall off when they moved. She hooked one arm under his shoulders, another arm under his knees, and bodily picked him up like he weighed nothing.

Clark keyed in the teleporter coordinates on his communicator, and in a few more moments three of them arrived at the Watchtower.

* * *

Some time later, Diana met J'onn in the hall just outside the Watchtower medical bay. "How is Bruce?"

J'onn replied, in his usual stoic manner, "We needed to put him back under an intravenous drip to flush the drugs out of his system more quickly. It will take a couple more days before he is in the clear. He is awake now."

"Who was the kidnapper?"

J'onn explained, "His name was Hank O'Neal. He was extremely gifted as a child, but became a nursing school dropout. His next of kin is out of state. He lived off welfare and did some day-trading on the side. He was once diagnosed with both bipolar and borderline psychosis, but didn't have the means for treatment. There is a medical mission nearby where he stole the I.V. solutions and some of the other drugs from. They're so understaffed and underfunded that although they were aware of the constant theft they could do nothing about it.

"I interviewed him. Bruce had been right under my nose. I wish I caught him earlier. He didn't have the megalomania I've come to associate with supervillains, so he slipped completely under my radar."

"J'onn, did he…? Bruce, was he…?" She couldn't bring herself to think of the word, much less say it.

"No, Bruce was not violated. He was not the target."

Diana buried her face in her hands. "I've fought against alien brutes and survived interplanetary wars. And yet I was rendered absolutely helpless by… Great Hera, he didn't even have powers. Just a mentally-ill kid. We could have helped if we had known about him before."

* * *

Bruce looked up as Diana entered through the medical bay doors. He was sitting up, reading on a data pad. She recognized the civilian clothes he wore as an old set of Clark's. A good enough fit, if a bit tight in the shoulders. He spoke, "This is the second time this year I've woken up in the Watchtower medical bay, and I'm not even a League member yet. I hope this isn't turning into a habit." He smiled crookedly at her in greeting.

"Are you… are you alright?" She sat down beside him.

"I'm fine. Clark told me what happened. I was asleep through all of it. I don't remember a thing." He reached for her hand. "It must have been hard for you. I'm sorry, I was so engrossed in my own affairs, in trying to keep you from the enemies I don't actually have, that it didn't occur to me the opposite could happen. I was stupid. I should've been more careful."

"This tube," she said absently as she traced her finger around the silicone tubing on his forearm, "I never want to see another of these things. I want to rip it out—"

"Diana, stop." She started at his use of her name. He was looking at her strangely. Concerned, as if she was the one and not him who was sick. "Come here and kiss me."

She paused uncertainly, not quite ready to believe her nightmare of the past week was finally over. But he was there, waiting for her, and he seemed real enough. She projected her thoughts to her teammate in the monitor womb. _J'onn, cameras off please. I'd like some privacy._

 _Done. Bruce already requested it._

She slid into the bed beside him, carefully, on the side of his good arm. As she pressed herself into his familiar warmth, her uneasiness disappeared, and she had but one overriding thought. She was home.

* * *

A/N: Okay, I feel a little silly and embarrassed to ask this, but I really would like to know where you think this story is going. I do get ideas from reviews. (If you've already read this on AO3, well, you already know where it's going next, and that's okay, then.)


	6. Light in the Darkness

**Light in the Darkness  
**

 _Timeline: between Untouchable and Feel My Pain_

* * *

The switch to activate the entrance to the batcave from Wayne manor was behind the bust of William Shakespeare.

She actually knew the guy. He was a pretty decent chap of sorts, although she had had to break the friendship after he got smitten with her despite being a married father of three... and this was before the great bard finally admitted to himself he was gay. Offhand, she wondered how Batman would feel if he knew that she was the Dark Lady of the Shakespearean sonnets. Maybe she would tell him someday. And then he'd probably need a new bust.

Although it wasn't her first time visiting, she still wasn't quite used to the dank of the batcave. She supposed it was only a matter of time. It wasn't too different from the cavern system in Themyscira where as a teenager she once took months of survival training with her sisters.

Chill air greeted her as she exited the elevator, and she placed her hands in her pockets to warm them. Her outfit of a casual blouse and yoga pants had pockets. Her favorite perk of all since moving out of her Watchtower quarters was not having to wear her Wonder Woman uniform all the damn time. Especially while sleeping.

Speaking of sleeping, she reminded herself why she had gone down there in the first place. To talk to a man about sleeping arrangements.

She found him at the workshop, tinkering as usual with his current pet-project-of-the-week. His back was towards her. His dark hair was still disheveled from bed head, despite it was already late afternoon. An empty lunch tray stood on the far end of his worktable. Under his swivel chair she saw he was wearing denim pants and loafers. She had half-expected to find him in costume, just on principle, although logic and reason made it unlikely. At least he had bothered to change out of pyjamas.

Without turning, he asked, "How was your trip to the Watchtower?"

So he knew she was there. She reiterated her promise to herself that someday she would manage to sneak up on him. Anyway, she had the rest of eternity to attempt it.

She answered him, "Everyone but Green Lantern and Aquagirl has returned from Scadrial. Kal's still holding the fort and Mr. Terrific put me on the backlog of paperwork. If that's all they're going to make me do, I think I'm going to extend my honeymoon leave for another couple of months," she sighed, resigned. "Is that my new armor?"

"Yes."

"Uhm, pants are itchy."

"Fine, I'll make adjustments."

"Say, Bruce… I know you gave me the best room in the manor, and the lake view is truly lovely, but… isn't it about time I moved in with you? I am your wife, you know."

"No."

"Why not?"

Silence.

Okay, change of tactics. She grabbed his shoulder and turned him around on the swivel chair. Almost clumsily, she sat on his lap. She looked into his eyes and saw something that was not quite annoyance there, so she took that as a positive sign. She moved her face closer to his until their lips touched. And then she used her hands to touch other interesting places on his body.

After a while, he broke the kiss. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to have a conversation. Or, rather, trying not to."

"Stop it, Diana."

"Why?"

"Just stop."

"You're not gay, are you? All those women in your past was just an act?"

"Hell no!"

He'd had more than his rightful share of sex in the past. But he often found it dirty, making love to women that he didn't actually love. And the one time he was raped, with a son born from the encounter.

Of course he desired her. How could any straight man look at her and not want? But he was the bat, he had a will of iron and he would not—could not—taint her perfection with his darkness.

How could he explain that to her?

Diana wasn't done with their non-conversation just yet. She stood up with a huff and stamped her foot in indignation. The batcave could take it. "The great irony of my life: In three thousand years countless men have tried to get me into their beds, and when I finally try to seduce a man—my own husband no less—he won't even dare to touch me."

With a loud feral growl she found herself suddenly backed against the wall, his ominous shadow looming large over her. He pinned her hands to her sides of her head, his grip so tight that it would have bruised a non-meta. He looked so unpretentious out of costume compared to when in it that it was easy to forget how daunting he could get when pushed. With the way he stood dominant over her right then she would not be forgetting anytime this century.

Finally, she got a reaction.

"Don't test me, Princess," he snarled through gritted teeth. "Do you have any idea how many training dummies I've broken whenever I thought of you and Clark spending your nights together—"

She would not be intimidated. She glared at him, her eyes two luminous sapphires in the dark. "I never did it with Kal. Or with anyone."

"I find it difficult to believe you."

"I am the demigoddess of truth, my dear dark jealous idio— _mmph!_ "

He shut her up with his mouth. He kicked her legs open and he pressed his thigh against her crotch, holding her in place.

She read all the books, hell she even found Stephanie's collection of trashy romance novels. She heard all the tales from her sisters on how they would coax men to father Amazon children. She had even dared to watch a few (educational!) videos from the internet. Absolutely none of them even came close to the real thing. He'd kissed her before, but never like this.

A small voice at the back of her mind reminded her that she could flick him across the room—across several rooms—with the strength in her little finger. But there was a much louder voice, this one coming from somewhere below her bellybutton, warning her quite forcefully that she would regret it forever if she stopped him.

Both voices disappeared as he plunged his tongue into her, and all her rational capability flew out the window. Suddenly she was helpless. Careful what you wish for, indeed.

That night, in the dank of the Batcave, she gave him the proof of her innocence, and he taught her how to love.

As their bodies relaxed in the aftermath, the bolt of red cloth having been hastily pulled down to cushion them as they lay on the floor, he noticed something remarkable.

"Princess. You're glowing. Literally."

His goddess gleamed with a faint golden aura from head to toe. She turned beet-red, and the light took on a rosy tint. He chuckled. She asked, "Did you just unlock a new superpower for me?"

"No hanky-panky during undercover missions for you. But," he whispered in her ear mischievously, "this could be a very useful power for me. I can always tell when you haven't had enough yet."

"Is this how it feels for men too?"

"It feels even better for us. Scientifically proven. We just can't hold it as long as you can."

"Now I understand how Helen launched her thousand ships. All those poets from time immemorial were right. Gods, Bruce. If I had known it was like this, I'd have seduced you fifty years ago."

"You might have managed to freak me out back then. I still had… issues." He ran a hand uncertainly through his hair. "Apparently, I still do."

The familiar mask was falling across his features, and she knew she had to stop it. "Oh don't you shut me out." She grabbed his hands and wrapped them around her waist. He didn't resist. "I love you. I'm moving in, and we're doing this again and again until you've worked this particular issue out."

"Brute force therapy?"

"You don't want to?" she asked, suddenly unsure of herself. Of course she wouldn't force herself on him if he truly didn't want her.

In answer, he pulled her face toward his so he could devour her mouth. Without breaking their kiss, he turned her over on her back and settled himself between her legs, his newfound favorite place in the world. She gasped as his weight pressed down on her and her body instinctively tried to get closer to him.

"I could live with it. Just give me a few more minutes."

"Wait—now? I didn't mean— I don't think I can—"

Apparently, she could. Several more times.

* * *

A/N: Happy -40th Wedding Anniversary TSBruce and TSDiana!

This was set between the events of Untouchable and Feel My Pain. Gaah, the abridged versions are vastly inferior. The love got boiled down to single-sentence summaries. Sorry guys. Gotta go by the rules.

Uncut is on AO3 as always. Lux in Tenebris. Look for the Latin.


	7. Bonds

**Bonds**

 _Timeline: immediately after Feel My Pain_

* * *

Diana screamed.

 _"Don't kill him! I'll give you anything you want!"_

"Shh, princess," Bruce grabbed her about the shoulders. "I'm here, I'm here."

Another nightmare. Her wild expression calmed down. "Did I… did I break anything this time?"

"No, all the vases are intact. And you didn't hit me. It's not as bad as last week," he commented positively.

The blue eyes glistened, slightly wet. "I could slice your head off. I don't want to accidentally…" she trailed off and hung her head. She reached out to take his hand, and he gripped back tightly. "Maybe I should move out for a while?"

"No," he said in a tone that left no room for argument. "No, you're my wife, you're staying here with me. I can take whatever nightmare you may have."

Suddenly she had an idea. She gently pulled away. She hovered out of the bed and retrieved her lasso from their closet, then returned to sit on the bed beside him. She held the rope out. "Tie this on me." He proceeded to do so. He looped the rope around one wrist like a bracelet and tied a simple knot.

She slapped him.

It stung, naturally. Then he realized he was still on the bed and not crashed into a wall. "What gives?"

She held her arms out to him. "Squeeze me. Hard." He did. She was soft. "Oww! Stop, enough." He raised his eyebrows at her in question.

"I lose my powers if I let myself be bound willingly. But only if I'm willing. I have to be eager. It doesn't work if I'm coerced. If you tried this on me while I was brainwashed or unconscious—like a group of unfortunates found out the hard way during the hundred years war—you'd find yourself thrown across five rooms in two seconds flat."

He palmed his face. "Princess, you of all people… One weakness. An unbelievably unexploitable weakness. Of course it has to be a kinky one."

"Kinky?! What's so kinky about it?"

If she only knew. "Despite the physical evidence I still can't believe you managed to stay this innocent across three thousand years."

"It's not like anyone could educate me when I could squash heads like grapes. That tends to be a libido killer."

"Really, you never liked anyone enough to let him?"

"I liked a few men over the millennia, some more than others, but never up to that point. There was only ever that one guy, fifty years ago. It didn't work out due to lots of issues."

He knew she referred to himself, of course. "That sounds like something we can fix right now." He pushed her down, then grabbed the rope and tied her hands with it to the headboard post haste. They slept naked, which made the rest of his tasks convenient.

"Am I going to get another lesson?"

"No. I just plan to enjoy myself. You were on top last time."

"But I like top."

"You and me both."

She moaned. "I—I like bottom too."

And they danced. He made good his word, enjoying every second while making sure she enjoyed it too, until she was practically begging for him to stop.

He rolled to her side as he caught his breath. He nuzzled at her neck as their bodies started to relax, her golden glow faintly illuminating the room.

Suddenly he realized something. He sat up and looked at her. She was tied up, no powers, completely under his mercy. It was just too much. He couldn't resist. He tentatively slid his hands to the sides of her waist.

Her sapphire eyes widened. "What's with that look—?"

He tickled.

"No! No tickling!" She giggled. He continued. She giggled harder. "NO!"

The gleam on her skin blinked out, the rope came undone by itself, and he found himself splattered on the far bedroom wall with a painfully throbbing sternum.

Diana gasped. "Sorry! I hate getting tickled."

He gingerly picked himself up and limped back towards the bed. As he slid back into the sheets beside her, he asked, "I thought you lose your powers if I bound you willingly?"

"Uhm, maybe there's a time limit? Maybe I gain my powers back after we finish?"

"Are you sure you weren't just pretending all this time?"

She shook her head. "I'm incapable of lying, you know that. That's actually a weakness, believe it or not. However… technically it's not lying if _I don't know what the truth is…_ " she grinned mischievously. "Why don't you help me figure it out?"

His back still hurt from where he had hit the wall. Despite it, he wrapped his arms about her and pulled her to his side. "Go to sleep, princess."

* * *

A/N: And again, the love got boiled down to a one-sentence summary. DDLo18, I think I may get around to posting a full chapter, eventually. There's a chapter in the pipeline where the story doesn't make sense if it's summarized. =)

Next up is another full episode with four chapters.


	8. Black Flag: Progressive

**Black Flag:** _Progressive_

* * *

Fire burned in the Wayne mausoleum.

Diana flew across the manor grounds, having completed her League duties for the day. She headed for the light at the Wayne family crypts. Just inside, a fire pit burned brightly. Bruce stood by, intently watching the flames. She was surprised to see him wearing an old version of the Batsuit. Dark half-mask. LED-lit eyes. Black cape.

"It seemed fitting to be in armor," he explained. Again, he had somehow sensed her presence. Probably via a stray shadow on the wall. Someday, she told herself, she would sneak up on him yet.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was their anniversary."

"It's not. But time doesn't wait."

And she knew. It was time. Finally, he was ready to don the cowl once more.

Three sepulchers had been dusted clean—those of Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, and Alfred Pennyworth. He told her, "I cremated the remaining bones and scattered their ashes over the lake. These crypts contain nothing but ornamental urns now. Empty vessels cannot be used against me."

He picked up two bouquets that lay on the floor near him. She recognized the flowers as grown right there in the manor greenhouses. Kevin must have made the arrangements. Bruce's bouquet was mostly comprised of angel trumpets and geraniums. The one with tiger lilies he held out. He had been intentionally waiting for her. "Would you do the honors?"

She took the flowers. Bruce threw his bouquet into the fire, but Diana hesitated.

"I remember this. The Babel Incident. You made a plan to take down each member of the League should we go rogue. They took your parents' remains so you could not interfere while your stolen plans were turned against the rest of us." She turned to look at him accusingly. "I remember what you said, why you made those plans. What I never understood was why you choose to do it that way. I still don't. Perhaps I never will. It felt like you betrayed us."

He frowned at her, annoyed that she would bring up the topic now. He spoke angrily, "You know I will do the same all over again in a heartbeat, princess—"

"And I will go against you again when you do!" Her eyes blazed. When, not if. She smiled, a pained smile that didn't reach the rest of her face. "You've always known me best. In fact, husband dearest, now you know everything about me. My every intimate secret I have laid bare to you. You'd have already put that in your plans too, I'm sure. I can't lie and say it doesn't hurt."

"Diana—"

She held her hand up, "Don't insult me with promises you will be forced to break." She exhaled, bit her lower lip as she looked down and away from him, her emotions in turmoil. He was he and she was her and there were fundamental things about them that would never change. Crucial differences that could never be mended. They both understood this. "It doesn't matter. Whatever I may feel, I trust you. Whatever happens, I won't leave you. I can't, anymore. You're stuck with me."

She threw her flowers into the fire. The tiger lilies caught flame, and she spoke a silent promise to those long dead, that she would always stay by their son's side for as long as her immortal life kept on living. A reiteration of a vow already made and witnessed, at an altar where they could not be in attendance.

As she watched the flowers burn, strong gloved hands wrapped around her from behind. She felt his warm breath on her neck. He whispered three precious words—words that were both an intimate secret and an enduring promise—so softly they easily disappeared in the cackle of flames. But she heard, and she knew, and she would remember.

Hand-in-hand, they walked back towards the manor. Behind them the wind blew the fire out, and the ashes floated away into nothingness.

* * *

"Wow, just wow. This is so unexpected. When they said I was going to interview Bruce Wayne and Wonder Woman together, I thought it had to do with… I don't know what I thought. Not this, certainly. So you guys are truly married? You've actually been married since August? Four months ago since it's December now."

"That's right, Steve," Bruce answered. He and his wife sat together on a couch in a TV studio for a press release, being interviewed by popular talk show host Steven Harvey of ' _The Steven Harvey Show!'_ fame. Bruce was in business casual attire while Diana wore her full Justice League uniform.

"Bruce, you look great. Extremely great. Like you're in your thirties or forties again." He turned to Wonder Woman, "So he turned like that because he married you?"

Diana answered, "Yes. We were surprised to discover it at first too, since none of my people have married outside my tribe in millennia. But it really is just like the stories in Greek mythology that everybody studies in fifth grade."

"Are you guys a love match?"

"We most certainly are," Bruce confirmed. "You're too young to know this, but Diana and I dated in our youth. Three months in 2006."

"Wow, that's exactly fifty years ago. So is this in fact, a rekindling of an old flame?"

"That term only applies if the flame ever burned out. In our case I think it never did, for either of us." Bruce patted Diana's hand.

"Even when you were dating other people? If I remember correctly, a few years ago Superman and Wonder Woman were quite an item. Don't tell me you and Superman broke up because of him?"

"Uhm, we did, actually," she admitted sheepishly. The questions made her uncomfortable. She was fine with official League appearances, but personal TV interviews with very personal questions were not her thing.

"Wow, that is just unbelievable. True love at it's finest. How about you, Bruce? As recently as last month, you were linked to actress Susan Bertinelli. Hey, I realized just now you were already married then! What does your wife say about your reputation? Wonder Woman, don't you get jealous? How are you going to deal with the other women in Bruce Wayne's life?"

She flustered at the question. "Why, why, I— Ahh—" Deep breath. She deadpanned, "He can make love to all the women he wants, as long as he comes home only to me."

"Wow, that's very, uh, progressive—"

Bruce exclaimed, "Diana, how can you think that I look at anyone else? Even when I was young, none of them ever compared to you."

Just as he reached towards her beside him on the interviewer's couch, the wall-sized TV screen in the Wayne manor living room switched off. Diana, still dressed in a silver evening gown, held the remote while glaring at him. They had arrived home after a date night in town, just in time to catch the broadcast.

"I can't believe you French kissed me on National TV!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed. Bruce stood by the opposite side of the living room couch, shaking uncontrollably. "I almost threw you! And stop laughing!"

"I'm not any worse than you, princess. I can't believe you said that," he chuckled. "How many puritans you must have shocked. From what netherworld tome did you pull that line from anyway?"

"Scottish Folktales, Cuchulainn's wife, sixth bookcase in your East wing library. Don't change the subject!"

He laughed again, not bothering to hide his mirth anymore. His wife was thousands of years old and could flick him like a bug, then she would turn around and quote inappropriate Shakespeare at the most inopportune of times. On, in this case, inappropriate Celtic mythology. "From the 'Bat of Gotham' you turned me into the 'Hound of Ulster'? This just gets better and better."

He sensed impending violence. He walked over and quickly wrapped his arms about her waist.

"Oh no, Mr. Wayne, if you think—"

He kissed her. Gently, without tongue this time. She didn't resist. After a while he felt her arms around his neck and her fingers run through his hair, pulling him closer. He was briefly tempted to tease her with another French kiss, but he figured he ought to quit while he was ahead. While all his bones were still intact. He reluctantly broke the kiss instead.

"There, the cat's out of the bag. We're public, the whole story with just the sensitive details left out. No bullcrap tales about immortality pills. Are you happy?"

The Themysciran demigoddess of truth smiled genuinely at him. "Yes."

* * *

Late Monday morning at the Wayne manor, Terrence McGinnis walked with purpose across the halls. He had just returned to Gotham after red-eye flight from China. He was tired, he terribly missed his wife and kids, but he wanted to get some business over with first. As he passed by a hallway mirror, he paused and looked at himself. He scratched at the two-day-old growth on his chin, deciding that he badly needed a shave. The shave could wait.

As he entered the manor's home office, he saw a dark-haired man typing on a laptop behind the antique oak desk. The pose was familiar, but the face was not. "Wow, Bruce, you look even younger than I do. I saw you on TV, but it's hell of a lot more impressive in person."

"Welcome back, Terry."

He took a deep breath, unsure of how to breach the topic or its appropriateness. But this man was one of the most important people in his life, and he figured he should be honest. "I'm only going to say this once, and now seems appropriate." He paused. Bruce waited. He continued, "I would never have done it. But I admit that many times, I played the scenario over and over in my mind, how much I would want to throw you into a Lazarus pit when you finally decided to croak. I am truly glad that I will never be faced with that temptation. All it took was for you to marry a living demigoddess. Like she said, all this time the answer had been staring us in the face. Right there in fifth grade Greek mythology."

Bruce smiled in melancholy. "Alfred would be happy if he knew Diana and I got hitched in the end. He always said Diana was the only girl in my harem—his words—who didn't have a psychotic streak."

"Cupid and Psyche. Hercules and Hebe. Boreas and Oreithyia. I noticed that there was one thing about the myths you conveniently avoided discussing. Immortality is bestowed by the nectar of the gods, figured out by any fifth grader who could put two and two together."

"Ambrosia has absolutely no side effects. Oddly enough, my experiments strongly indicate that it is not magic."

"So it _is_ ambrosia? And you already tested yourself?" The ambrosia had been a guess. He shouldn't have been surprised that Bruce was already running experiments. Terry pointed out, "Do you realize that you have effectively confirmed to the world that achievable immortality exists? How many of the super villains we've taken down over the years would wage war for it? Themyscira will be a target."

"The Greek myths have always been common knowledge. You'd be surprised how uncommon common sense actually is. In any case, we calculated and decided the trade-off was worth it. Trying to hide our situation has caused many problems—in more ways than I am able to tell you right now—that we weren't prepared to handle. Metahumans and the Justice League have been around for sixty-odd years. There are immortals walking among us, public and well-known. People have not been rioting over them. The world is ready for this.

"Diana and the queen understand the risks. We already discussed it with her majesty before we set up the press release. When it happens, we'll just have to deal with it." Bruce changed the subject, "How was Beijing?"

"Hot. One month is far too long to be away from Dana and the kids. Have they seen the new you yet?"

"I took Diana once to see them. I will have to tone down my visits, now that I'm high profile again."

"Michael will be sad. You know how he adores you. I suppose it can't be helped. As long as you don't skip Christmas."

"That's a promise."

Terry slung his backpack to his front and dug around. He took out a flash drive from his pencil case. "Do you remember the Somalia cruise ship ambush? Where Warhawk almost lost his arm?"

"The one where my wife dropped a crate? I might have been incapacitated elsewhere during that incident. What about it?"

"This is really more your territory than mine," he admitted. "Yours and Matt's. I'm stumped. I think we need to tackle this using the business angle. I've tried brute force, and it is not working." Matthew McGinniss, his younger brother, was currently working for the business arm of Wayne Enterprises. Bruce had been grooming Matt for an eventual leadership position, but the young man was still too inexperienced for it.

Terry held the flash drive out. "Schematics of weapons that can take down the Justice League. Completely non-lethal. Also completely, absolutely legal, in every country under the United Nations." He sighed heavily. "You'd think that non-lethal weapons were a good thing, but no. They use these weapons to incapacitate the good guys, then they follow-through with deadlier ones.

"I've also got intel on the company that manufactures them. Their biggest customers are the Indian Ocean pirate groups, but the weapons are slowly trickling into the Gotham underground now. Most of it are extra munitions from the pirates themselves. It won't be long before we have an influx from direct suppliers.

"Every time I shut down one of their factories, I was breaking the law. Within one week a new one just pops up to take it's place. Assembly is cheap, the parts are cheap, labor is extremely cheap. What hurts the most is the legality angle. There's no way to stop the manufacturing permanently".

Bruce took the flash drive. "Alright. I'll see what I can do."


	9. Black Flag: Out of Left Field

**Black Flag** : Out of Left Field

* * *

Earth was clearly visible from the Watchtower monitor womb. He remembered a time, before the existence of their space station, before the Justice League, when he would fly up to the upper tiers of the atmosphere to gaze at its serene beauty. Sight of the big blue orb had always brought him a sense of catharsis. He could still do that, simply fly up, but nowadays it was far more convenient to watch the earth from their orbital headquarters' windows.

Clark Kent, better known to the world as Superman, gazed down upon his adopted home planet. The world also knew him by his human name now, because of a careless email breach that revealed not just his, but the secret identities of several Justice League members during the early 2040s. It had been a public relations disaster, he remembered, and his fellow League members who got affected had scrambled to put their lives in order.

Thankfully in his case, the reveal of his identity had happened when it no longer mattered. When his wife and son were both already dead.

Many years ago he had married Lois Lane after a turbulent courtship. They had a son almost immediately afterward, Jon Kent, named after Clark's adoptive human father. But Jon had always been sickly. The boy would have periods where he would display his father's superpowers, then suddenly come down with an unexplained cough or fainting spells. Clark wasn't sure if it was because Jon was a hybrid, a proof that human and Kryptonian genes were never destined to mix, or if it was just because they were unlucky. Young Jon Kent never made it past the age of ten.

The loss of Jon brought trouble into their marriage, for a while, but they managed to carefully work it out. Clark and Lois remained happily together for many more years. Their union was blessed with no further children. It all began to end when Lois came down with lung cancer.

He had tried everything to save her. He got her the best doctors. His heat vision performed chemotherapy better than any human-built machine in any medical facility could have done. He visited other planets to find nanotechnology and alien medicine, worlds as far away as the deepest recesses of the known universe. They used experimental bleeding-edge techniques of modern human medicine. In desperation they even tried traditional alternative medicine like acupuncture and acupressure. In the end, none of his attempts had worked. Lois went peacefully to sleep one night and simply never woke up again.

He was devastated. All his strength, all his power, flown like nothing in the face of death. Abilities that let him carry entire worlds upon his shoulder had not been enough to save the woman he loved.

After Lois had died, he had changed his League uniform to a white-and-black Kryptonian suit in an ineffective attempt to distance himself from the sadness of losing his earth family. He moved to his fortress of solitude at the North pole, leaving everything behind that reminded him of them.

Solitude indeed. The isolation had helped him cope, for a while. And then he felt the world once again beckon him.

Ten years was a long time to mourn. He had put the Kryptonian suit away, and hoped he would never have cause to garb himself in black again. Once more he had taken to wearing red and blue. For although he was Kal-El, biological child of Jor-El and Lara of Krypton, fundamentally, Superman would always also be Clark Kent, son of Jonathan and Martha Kent, the human boy who grew up in the farmlands of Kansas.

The prolonged stay at the fortress had aged him. The North pole stood at the apex of the earth where sunlight was weakest, and in fact spent six months of each year in perpetual nightfall. Now that he spent almost the entirety of his days back in the Watchtower, so close to the sun and without the insulating layers of atmosphere, his Kryptonian body had regenerated. Not quite to his full prime, but he got pretty close. He smirked. Good old Sol, his own personal brand of ambrosia.

Time does heal all wounds, and over the years he had thought about Lois and Jon less and less. Taking leadership of the Justice League rejuvenated him more than anything. The League was able to help so many. It gave purpose to his continued existence.

He walked from the Watchtower windows to his terminal. League membership would hit two hundred very soon at their current rate of recruitment, but that number included those who had already retired or left for whatever reason. Currently there were eighty active members. Quite a number to keep track of all at once.

J'onn J'onzz, Mr. Terrific and himself rotated on eight-hour shifts to ensure that the League had an active handler at all hours. The three of them were the primary, but other members would pitch in as handlers whenever necessary, depending on who was needed where. Wonder Woman was often Clark's alternate. Right now she was out on field duty.

Recently, field duty meant going up again and again against a pirate group with weapons that somehow managed to render the League members helpless. Specifically, the problem stemmed from a special kind of black rope, which were further manufactured into bolas and bola launchers.

Bola launchers were primarily used for game hunting. To their knowledge, there were no laws anywhere governing bolas, effectively making them legal. Rope, certainly, was perfectly legal everywhere.

If the ropes could bind Wonder Woman, second to him in raw strength, they could bind any member of the League. That meant Superman was the only metahuman unaffected. He was only a commlink message away for those in the public field, so they could always call for rescue in a pinch. But how many of their undercover agents—whom he could not help—had been already hurt?

J'onn J'onzz materialized in front of him. Clark asked, "Is my shift over?"

"Yes," J'onn answered.

Clark hadn't noticed. "I got a tip that the weapons supplier is directly controlled by the Chinese government. We can't touch them until they've exchanged hands, or risk international war." He sighed heavily. "We're up against something completely legal, after all."

"An anonymous tip?"

"Not quite anonymous. It's from an internal encrypted line. Number one." Line number one had not been used for fifty years. The line self-updated its encryption algorithms, so it remained secure half a century on. "J'onn, can you give me a recap? What do we have so far?"

"We know that a large cargo of the weapons recently made its way stateside, fifty crates of a hundred each. We know there was only a single shipment, en masse, and that it came via sea, but we don't know its port of entry. The group we're up against is in a hurry to get the weapons distributed to their individual cells. We don't know how many cells, or how many per cell."

"How bad is our situation overall?"

"There hasn't been any notable change in crime rates anywhere. Yet. I suspect the group is wary of us and is biding its time before it strikes." J'onn went over to his terminal to bring up his notes. "The Flash is searching for the weapons' port of entry. His last message was from Central City, but I highly doubt he is still there. He strongly suspects the weapons came in through the East Coast, but his search will take him wider. He plans to first go through the southern states. Depending on what he finds he may continue south or head back northeast towards the ports of Gotham, or New York, or New Jersey. We received no communication from him for the past two days. However, his tracker is still pinging."

"Have you tried telepathically calling him?"

J'onn nodded. "Yes, but I have not found him. Although he is Wally's nephew, I don't have as strong an affinity with him like I do with you and Diana—the founders, for that matter. I don't hear his mind calling unless I knew his exact location or he is relatively nearby." He paused expectantly. "I would like to refrain from making planet-wide scans unless we are certain it's an emergency."

"I understand," Clark agreed. The latter task was extremely draining for the Martian.

Clark's communicator beeped. He put it to his ear. "Kal," said Wonder Woman. "We need you in Argentina, now."

"Same group with the bola launchers and unbreakable rope?"

"Yes."

"On my way."

* * *

The moon shone bright over the slums of Gotham. Past midnight in the cold weather, the streets were almost completely devoid of human life. Near a creek stood a somewhat remarkable building. A warehouse, small by most standards, four stories high, aluminum roof with plain whitewashed walls. What made this particular building remarkable was the six-foot tall bat that had attached itself to one of the uppermost ventilation windows.

After a few more minutes, a cutter firmly grasped in his hands, the masked bat finally managed to break through the window glass. He let the severed piece fall inside where it shattered twenty meters down. He shoved his hand through the hole and turned the handle to open the window pane.

This building would mark the third empty warehouse Terry McGinnis visited that night in his search for the pirate group's main weapon stash.

He entered and jumped down, then proceeded to scour the area for clues. He found precious few items of interest to report. He was certainly correct that the group had been here. The crate markings all matched with those from other locations. The level of dust on the office desks and bathroom fixtures indicated to him that the building had been abandoned approximately two days ago.

He walked over to a stack of wooden crates. All empty. On a hunch, based on some ground markings, he pushed the stack sideways for about a meter. Bingo. He found… junk. But it was interesting junk. Green fur from Beastman. A scrap of blue cloth that looks like it was torn from Static Shock's coat.

Did the League get into a fight? He quickly turned around, looking over the scenery again with the new assumption in mind.

No, there had been no fighting here. These were souvenirs that had been carried over—accidentally or intentionally, he had no way of finding out—when the group had retreated from some other battle.

He wasn't aware of any casualties or recent major injuries from the League. Assuredly he would have heard if anything like that had happened. Now that Bruce was active again he was certain his mentor and Superman have resumed communications. He facepalmed. Oh yeah, he completely forgot that Bruce was married to Wonder Woman.

That was going to take him some getting used to. Geriatric Bruce getting married had been well within the realm of his imagination, but who would have thought that out of twelve billion people in the world, he would tie the knot with Wonder Woman? A total ball out of left field. How many more secrets did that senile old coot keep hidden? Did he and Matt have a half-sibling, maybe? More than one? Half-breeds with powers? He laughed at the thought. He decided he wasn't going to dwell on it.

Nothing left to see in this building. He climbed back out from the window he entered the warehouse in. Once outside, he looked around for a tall perch he could use as a vantage point. He saw a water tower a few blocks to his northwest, and he promptly went there. He used his retractable wings and leapt towards its topmost platform.

Terry stood up and _looked,_ his gaze poring over the city, taking in all its sights, sounds and smells.

He flipped a switch on his visor, which turned on his suit's detective mode and gesture input. He moved his fingers and arms in the air to overlay his case notes over the buildings. One by one, he mapped the warehouses he had visited over the past nights and tried to determine a path or a pattern. Nothing. He mapped the locations in the order they were abandoned instead of the order he visited them. Still he saw no pattern. How about more than one trail? He tried mapping the points into two separate paths, came up empty, and then he tried three. At three paths he finally saw it.

The trails were leading to the Gotham docks. From the docks the nearest large city would be Metropolis, but that was only one of many possible connecting locations. Plus, there was the chance that the Gotham docks were in fact where the main stash was being kept. That actually would make sense, as Gotham was one of the country's largest influx ports—one of the top five in terms of sheer volume of traded goods.

But why choose Gotham, a den of iniquity and home of the infamous Bat? Maybe there was something bigger going on than the weapon stash? On the other hand, maybe it was as simple as they just didn't have a choice on which port of entry.

He needed to find out more. He glanced at his chronometer, which indicated 2:47 a.m. Time to call it a night. The trail could wait. He had a family and a day job to consider.

* * *

Bartholomew Henry Allen the Second was from the future. The 30th century in fact. But the 30th century was a troubled time, and Bart had never managed to find himself there. Born to extraordinary parents, his powers ran wilder than that of most speedsters in history. No matter how hard he struggled he could not learn control. At the suggestion of his grandfather, he set out through the time stream to find himself a proper teacher, one who would not be daunted by the challenges presented by his unique physique.

And so Bart had found a home in the 2050s, where his distant uncle Wally West had risen to the task of helping him rein in his talents. For several years Wally tutored him on harnessing his powers and the speed force, before the latter retired. Wally left the young man to the care of the Justice League, and permanently passed onto him the mantle of the Flash.

Bart didn't mind his uncle's retirement, even if he missed the older man a lot. He had been more than ready to join the Justice League full time. He was eager to prove himself.

His current mission was to find the source of the weapons that could disable the Justice League's powers. He had not yet encountered these weapons first-hand, but he had heard the stories, read the reports, and seen the injuries. He had been the one to assist Warhawk to the medbay when the half-Thanagarian hero returned from a skirmish with his right radius and ulna severely fractured. It was not often that League members could get injured so gravely. Finding—and stopping—the weapons was critical to the League's survival.

From his hometown of Central he had detoured south to Texas, then to New Orleans, and he eliminated those states from the list of possible sources. Next on his route was back north to Gotham before heading further east.

The core of his search were ports of entry—meaning the Gotham docks. But the docks were huge. Technically he could brute-force each and every warehouse there, but he would waste too much time doing so. Based on a clue he found at a warehouse in Starling City, he needed to first visit a factory in the slums which may contain information that could narrow his search area.

When he got there, the factory's back door was unlocked. Should he be suspicious? Was a toilet paper factory paranoid about security? He entered carefully. The place was full of stacks of toilet paper. Well, what had he been expecting?

He needed to find the office. As he turned a corner, he tripped over a loose floor panel. Nothing happened, luckily. He continued along the hall more carefully. When he got to the middle of the next corridor, he quickly discovered he had hit jackpot in the worst possible way.

Bolas tied with black rope shot towards him from many heights and directions. He weaved, he twirled, and evaded each one. To his enhanced speed, the bolas were so slow they might as well be unmoving. He counted fifty in all before the barrage finally ended.

As he began to rebalance himself, two bolas came at him at varying speeds. The slower one shot at him first, and then the faster second bola overtook the first in mid-flight towards him. The differing velocities of the projectiles caught him off-guard. But he was good. He avoided these two as well. Not as easily as the first fifty, but he managed.

A fifty-third bola shot at him from behind, and he was finally caught. The thick black cordon bound his arms tightly to his chest.

This was bad. But no biggie, he still had a way to escape. He drew on the speed force and made his individual molecules vibrate rapidly. He started to phase out.

He abruptly phased back in again. "What the—?"

Sharp pain erupted from between his shoulder blades as a guard came seemingly from nowhere and clubbed him with a rifle butt. He found himself knocked down with his face upon the ground. The rifle butt pressed onto his nape to keep him from getting up.

He heard footsteps. He counted no less than ten pairs of booted feet as they surrounded him. The most impressive pair was smaller than the rest. Female.

Hands pulled him upright and he was face-to-face with the owner of the boots. Five-feet high, semi-muscular build, fair skin, brown eyes, dark plum lipstick, large scar on the left side of her chin. Her long hair was tied in a ponytail and dyed a bright reddish purple.

"You can't escape. Go ahead and try," she taunted. He couldn't place her accent. "Look, we won't even point our guns at you." She waved her hand, and all her men save for two guards backed away, rifles held at ease.

His first thought was he wasn't going to fall for so obvious a trap.

"Go on, your legs are free. Try running."

His second thought was, why the heck not? If it was a trap so be it. He ran. _At normal human speed._ A guard caught him by the waist after he managed to run for a few meters.

The woman laughed at his antics. Then, abruptly, her expression changed to one of hate. She cocked her gun at him. "Should I just kill you? Common sense tells me—screams at me—that I should kill you. But that Martian might sense it." For indeed the moment of death involved a cacophonous mental cry of pain. "We still can't afford to take the entire Justice League head on."

She put her gun away and turned to the guard on his right, who seemed to be her second-in-command, "Frisk him. Find his commlink and the secondary one."

Her lieutenant frisked him carefully. The man found his League communicator, several dollars in bills and coins, ration bars, and a few other odds and ends. "There's no secondary commlink."

"We're not taking risks. Get rid of his entire costume and put him in one of our uniforms. Or a sack, I don't care what you put him in. Take all those piercings off him. Then go lose all of his stuff in the city sewers, quickly. One of his things certainly has an emergency tracking device of sorts. That's how Static Shock got rescued in Nevada. We don't want to prematurely alert the League by destroying it."

Bart felt his heart jump to his throat. They knew about the emergency trackers.

"Once that's all done, you can die here after we clear our stuff out. Let's find out how quickly it will take the Flash with his notorious metabolism to starve to death."

The men proceeded to remove his mask and his piercings. When they were through with his face and moved on to removing his costume, he turned his head to the woman and asked, "Who are you?"

She gave him a demeaning look, as if she thought he was beneath her. She answered him anyway, "We are Anarchy. We are Black Flag. Our mission and vision is to have our footprint in every city in the world. But the Justice League keeps getting in our way."

Again he asked, "I meant, who are you?"

She smiled, malicious yet gruesomely beautiful. "You don't need to know my name."

A blindfold went over his eyes.


	10. Black Flag: Stay Out of Gotham

**Black Flag:** Stay Out of Gotham

* * *

If a reporter came up to Clark Kent at that moment, to ask him why he was wallowing along the muck of the Gotham sewers in civilian attire, the most convenient answer would have been because he spectacularly lost a three-way draw between J'onn, Diana and himself on who was going to go. It would not have been a truthful statement, but he wished it was, over the actuality.

Bart's tracker had stopped moving.

Mr. Terrific was the one who first noticed the unusual behavior. The League's emergency trackers were by necessity weak and pinged home only once per hour, to make them undetectable by all except the most sensitive electronic scanners. Halfway through Mr. Terrific's shift, he had noticed that Bart had not moved away from the middle of an empty baseball field in the Gotham slums. He had decided to wait and observe for a few hours. When his shift ended and Clark's shift started, Bart had still not moved. The League had then gone into full alert.

Clark's x-ray vision zoom into the area showed him an empty field. They concluded that Bart was underground. Which meant the sewers. Who was to go?

Under regular circumstances, J'onn J'onzz the telekinetic shapeshifter would be the obvious choice. Yesterday they had tested for the effects of the black rope on him. While his telepathic ability was unaffected, the rope could completely disable his shapeshifting and thus his phasing through materials. Like every other league member, he too was unable to break free when tied up with the rope.

Ergo the burden of the Gotham sewers fell upon Clark Kent, the only metahuman known to be immune to the weapon's debilitating capability. Since he had to navigate through the densely-populated city slums to reach the sewers, as a precaution, he went incognito. J'onn, invisible, was on standby immediately above ground in case he suddenly needed backup. Diana remained at the Watchtower as the team handler.

They still had no idea what the rope was made of. Secretly, he had been hoping that someone else—who while not a League member was certainly on their side—would have figured it out already. But he had received no new messages from Bruce, whether directly via the Watchtower internal communication lines, or otherwise. Diana had assured him the Bats were working on their side of it. He would be the first know if they have any findings, but they had no information for the League at present.

It took him about fifteen minutes of trudging through the muck before he finally found what he was looking for. An empty Flash costume, floating in a knee-deep puddle. He picked it up. The costume was dirty but intact. He used his enhanced vision to scan around, and one by one he found the rest of Bart's things.

He turned on his commlink and said, "Just found the tracker in Bart's earring, but no Bart. It looks like he took off his costume and flushed all his stuff down a sewer drain. His notebook is here too. It's soaked—unreadable now. I'm going to continue searching."

"No good, Kal," Wonder Woman told him. "Ravager just pinged. They need you in Moscow immediately."

He let out a frustrated sigh. He was loathe to drop the search, but he wasn't about to let the other team down. Which need was more immediate? Bart's costume was whole, with no sign of foul play or anything to indicate that he hadn't removed it himself (even if that didn't make sense). The other team, he was certain, was in the middle of a battle and likely already losing.

At super speed, he wrapped all of Bart's odds and ends inside the Flash costume to make a small bundle. He changed out of his civilian clothes. He added his own clothes to the bundle and quickly headed to the nearest sewer exit. He would stash the package into one of the League's dead drops before flying off to Russia.

He fervently hoped he had just picked the correct choice.

* * *

By day, Terry McGinnis worked as an automotive factory manager for a foreign car manufacturer that specialized in economy and electric cars. Despite his close ties with Bruce, he had firmly decided years ago to choose a place of employment that did not fall under the Wayne Enterprises mega-conglomerate. Maybe it was principle, maybe it was pride—even back when he had first completed college and was looking for his first job—he could not tell what it was inside him that made him take this decision, only that it was the morally correct one.

Not once had Bruce ever questioned him. The understanding between them ran that deeply. Terry was certain that whatever Bruce may have felt about it, he nonetheless continued to do the old man proud.

He and Dana had moved to the suburbs after their marriage and started a family. His job allowed them to live quite comfortably, while remaining solidly middle-class. By some miracle of impeccable time-management, he managed to continue the Gotham Bat's nightly patrols. With Bruce's support, they had set up a compact bat-den of his own at the new McGinnis's four-bedroom bungalow across town. He no longer had to visit the cave at Wayne manor, which saved him a couple of hours of daily transit time. That day, however, Bruce had asked him to come to the manor in person.

Early in the evening, after his work and a short commute across the city, he exited out of the elevator that lead from manor into the Batcave. He looked around. The cave had changed quite a bit in the short month he was away. Bruce had been busy.

The server rack was bigger. He remembered when he first explored the caves he had seen the retired Cray supercomputers that Bruce used to use. That had changed in the 2020s, during the late Information Revolution, when cloud computing and big data had boomed into a worldwide phenomenon. Bruce had changed the bat computer setup into a Beowulf system, just like the setups that the military think-tanks had then recently adopted but universities with limited budgets had been using for decades. Advancements in technology in a capitalist society had made the most powerful computers cheap and available to the masses. Whenever they needed more processing power, they replaced the outdated cores with whichever was most easily available in the market. Or they simply added more cores.

The new system was far easier to maintain and upgrade than a single supercomputer that needed replacing every five years. Simple and cost-effective was the best kind of solution, as per Batman's policy. Offhand, Terry wondered what the world would think if they knew Batman used a modified version of Linux and open source software.

For security, the batcomputer was not connected to the internet, and thus not remotely accessible. They used a secondary machine for access to the world wide web and other communication needs. Alfred's voice alone of all the batcomputer modules—the one set of files that could never be reconstructed if lost—had been backed up into the earth's data cloud.

He walked deeper into the cave, taking him past the computer servers to the workshop area. Several prototypes of whatever Bruce was working on were scattered in a haphazard yet oddly systematic fashion on the floor and tables. The red couch beside the main worktable was new. The particular shade of crimson was familiar but he couldn't quite place it. It was not a color that he recognized Bruce to use. Then he realized the piece of furniture wasn't a couch, but instead a convertible double-bed. He abruptly put a halt to his train of thought. Whatever his mentor did with a double bed by his worktable was his own business.

A little further on, he found his mentor facing the glow of the batcomputer terminal. "Terry," Bruce turned to him in welcome.

He acknowledged the older man with a wave. "What's up? You figured out the ropes?" He meant the question literally, referring to the adamantine ropes used by the pirate group against the Justice League.

"Yes, and more with your brother's help." Bruce turned back to his terminal, "Alfred, show us the simulations." The monitor screen flashed with the close-up diagram of a chemical molecular structure. To the side, a smaller video played which showed Bruce's experiments on the material.

Terry observed. He made a guess as to what the experiments implied to him, "Let me get this straight. The material negates all forces that touch it?"

Bruce replied in the affirmative. "The harder you push against it, the harder it pushes back. It reflects changes in thermal energy, so heating or cooling has no effect on it. Try to vibrate against it, and it vibrates 180 degrees off-phase to negate the initial vibration. Try to alter its molecular structure, and it will resist. Try to alter your own molecular structure while in contact with it, and it will negate your attempts."

"That cancels Flash's or Martian Manhunter's phasing."

"Exactly. There's also something about the material that negates magic. Alfred, show us the equations," he turned again to the computer. The screen changed to show several math equations.

Terry frowned at the monitor. He was—but realized he probably shouldn't be—surprised that Bruce had boiled down an approximation of magic to a bunch of numbers. "Bruce, those look like antimatter formulas."

Bruce shook his head in the negative. "It's not. The coefficients are all different. This compound is also too stable to be antimatter."

"Should I be impressed?"

Bruce shrugged. "I am. Effectively it can cancel every known superpower that comes into contact with it. However, it is inert unless there is an external force applied. It has no effect on normals. In other words," Bruce paused for emphasis, "it is completely harmless. There is no court on earth that would criminalize this."

Terry let the information sink in. After a while, he exclaimed, "Okay, the science just went over my head. Let's be practical. How do we break it?"

"Intense polarized energy. Emphasis on polarized. Strong lasers, like Superman's eye beams."

"Huh. What is it actually made of?"

"It's made out of a special type of silicon-carbon compound. But not silicon carbide."

"Extremely common elements. That's why it's so cheap."

"It's the manufacturing process that makes it special. There are only two laboratories worldwide that are capable of it—both happen to be located stateside—Palmer Industries and Routhe Laboratories. You know Ray Palmer, the Atom? He was a member of the League briefly, and there's no way his company would be the pirates' supplier. That leaves us with just Routhe Laboratories. By the way, Palmer and Routhe used to be close friends and business partners. I don't know how much Routhe knows about the League, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was aware of some doings."

"Does Routhe have direct ties to the pirates?"

"Yes. In Matt's investigation he discovered that Routhe is in fact one of their main leaders. Routhe sends the raw material to companies abroad—whichever company gives him the best deal—where it is manufactured into the bolas."

"Do we finally have a name for the group?"

Bruce had found the name in Matt's files. "Black Flag."

Terry facepalmed. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently. "The waving black flag symbols on all those crates should have been a giveaway, huh?"

"They're some kind of international modern-day mafia. At least, they're trying to be. They tried to take on the Chinese Triads. Failing there, they're now trying to get a foothold in the rest of the world, which pits them directly against the Justice League. The group traces its origins from Somalia but they are now based in North America. Very young criminal org, barely three years old."

"Even with the power-negating weapons they would never win against the League."

"Gotta give them credit for being ambitious. To the point of delusional."

"So they flared fast and are going to die young, eh?"

"Looks like it, if the League can hold their end."

"And they will." No doubt. Terry walked over to an empty desk and dropped his backpack on it. He pulled out his batsuit from the bag. As he started to change into his costume, Bruce stood up and walked over to a storage closet to retrieve a device.

Bruce handed the contraption to fully-suited Terry. It was a small cylinder, half the size of a pen, with two prongs that made it look like a caliper. "Laser cutter. Good for the black rope, and for cutting other things."

Terry nodded. "Alright, I'm going. We still need to find where they keep their stockpile."

Bruce had something final to say before Terry went out. "Can you take a detour before you resume searching for the main weapons stash? I just got a message from a boy scout asking for help, since this is our city and we know it best…"

* * *

The League was in a bit of a riot.

After Russia, ten encounters against the pirate group erupted across the globe all at once. Asia, South America, Africa, Australia. The group attacked public buildings in attempt to draw the Justice League into conflict. The League's active members were suddenly stretched thin.

J'onn commented, it was as if the group were getting desperate.

Salvation came in the form of Wonder Woman, who had all of a sudden taken a short flight and returned to the tower with a package containing a handful of laser cutters. A gift from their friends from Gotham. She and Clark had quickly flown to distribute the cutters to the teams already out on the field. Clark took the Western hemisphere, while Diana took east.

The cutters' existence spelled the end of the pirate group. The pirates had no metahumans in their ranks, and with their weapons rendered useless, the skirmishes ended so quickly it wasn't even funny.

Wonder Woman and Green Lantern were still out in the field when Clark had returned to the Watchtower. His communicator beeped.

Diana's voice on the other end told him, "East hemisphere is now clear. Kylo and I are heading back."

"Great. Diana, how are you?"

"No injuries whatsoever. We're fine here."

"How's your leg? You were limping slightly this morning."

Awkward pause. Finally, she replied, "I was helping Bruce with his experiments earlier. Nothing to do with the pirates. I'm alright." Clark could swear, with his enhanced hearing he heard her mutter, _The rest is none of anybody's business…_

Oddly, that statement made him worry about her even more.

"What are we doing about Bart?" J'onn wanted to know.

"I've already sent backup for him."

* * *

Superman's message had included the locations from where Bart's tracker had pinged. With one ping only once every hour, and with Flash moving as fast as… well, the Flash, Terry had had a lot of ground to cover. He narrowed his search area to where the pings began to get close together, indicating where Bart had started losing speed. The factory in the slums looked most promising.

All the lights were out when Terry arrived at the abandoned toilet paper factory. He carefully circled around the building, checking for signs of human activity. Satisfied that the place was truly abandoned, he headed for the back door.

It was unlocked. Convenient. Either it was a trap… or they didn't care.

Terry walked through the corridors. Empty room on his left. Empty room on his right. Empty pantry. Stray cat at the end of the hall. Empty room, with desks. Stairs up. Empty corridor. All rooms on the second floor empty. If Terry could take pride in anything it was that he was thorough. He went back down to the ground floor, then found stairs to the basement.

What one searched for was always in the last place one looked, because when one found it, the search was over.

A man lay in a dark corner of the basement in a fetal position, wearing camouflage, a canvas sack over his head. The fact that the body was tied up with the black rope indicated to him that this was a metahuman. He cut the ropes off post haste, then helped the man sit up.

He pulled the sack off to reveal Bart Allen's face. The latter quickly broke into a lopsided grin.

"Never thought I'd be this happy to see the scowling rubber face of a giant man-bat."

Terry tsked. Bart looked haggard, but didn't seem like he was hurt anywhere. "Ouch. So they discovered your secret identity?"

Bart winced. "Actually, I don't think she cared a single whit."

"Couldn't phase through it, huh?"

"Nope. Couldn't generate a time clone either. Have you figured out what this stuff is?"

"Kinda. Obviously, I broke you out of it. How about you?"

"No clue."

"Too bad. Did you get what you need?"

"Enough."

The bat helped Bart stand up. After making sure the former captive was alright, Terry warned him, "Stay out of Gotham.".

"Heh." Bart didn't take offense. He knew Terry's mannerisms. "Keep your criminals in it, then."

Within a literal flash, he was gone.


	11. Black Flag: Ghosts

_**Black Flag** : Ghosts_

* * *

Late in the afternoon on the following day, Terry McGinnis anxiously entered the batcave. "Alfred, news," he said as walked towards the workshop area. Alfred obliged him. The large wall monitor turned on.

 _Justice League Stops Terror Attacks_

He stood to observe the montage currently displaying on the screen. Public square in Rio de Janeiro reduced to rubble. Raging fire in a wet market in Vietnam. Collapsed subway station in Sydney. Terry shook his head in disbelief.

"Say, Bruce…?" He asked tentatively, his eyes glued to the screen as he tried to process all of the newsreel images. He heard the old man grunt an affirmative. He asked, "Is it okay if I do a recap?"

"Go ahead," Bruce replied from deeper in the cave.

"Okay. Just bullet points. Black Flag is a criminal organization who have been into all sorts of questionable activities. Mostly piracy and smuggling."

"Huh."

"Someone figured out how to manufacture weapons that negate superpowers, and said weapons are legal. Black Flag procured these weapons and are using them to fight the Justice League."

"Huh."

"Our immediate task is to get rid of the weapon stockpile. And we still have to stop the source of the weapons at its root, afterwards."

"Huh."

"That was before all this happened," Terry waved his arm to indicate the news montage. "Black Flag attacked public centers yesterday, with casualties. Now they're officially a terrorist organization."

"Huh."

"From simple piracy to all-out terrorism. It's a drastic departure from their past routine. I don't get it at all. I thought they were profit-driven. These aren't the actions of people who are only in it for the money."

"Huh." Bruce stepped out from behind one of the computer racks. He shrugged his shoulders. "Far be it for us to understand the minds of deranged criminals. Let's just shut them down and put an end to their misery."

Terry pursed his lips, not quite ready to drop his train of thought. In the end, he decided to let it go. They had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Got the address?" Bruce asked while motioning for Terry to come towards the worktable, where several pieces of equipment were laid out. All in varying shades of black, naturally.

"Affirmative. I already input the coordinates on the batmobile," Terry replied. He noted what the older man was wearing. A variant of his own batsuit, no cape, and the symbol on the chest was gray. He couldn't help but be excited, "This is a joint mission? About time, I say."

"Just for today," Bruce clarified. He handed a bundle to Terry. "Go get changed."

Terry did so. Bruce inspected his handiwork. Full-body military fatigues, black urban camo. Twin waist packs instead of their regular utility belts. Round helmet with a mirrored visor that completely covered Terry's face. No bat ears, and no insignias anywhere. The younger man flexed his limbs to get a feel for the armor. "This is extremely comfortable. I may not want to go back to using the exosuits after this."

"I'll take that into consideration."

"So I can't cloak?"

"You can. It's fitted with an experimental prototype, a different technology from the nanoLED mesh. We're going against normals today so it should suffice. I'm the one who can't cloak, since I ran out of prototypes to fit both our suits." The older man pulled on his mask. "Let's go."

* * *

Terry adjusted his binoculars for a better view. He and Bruce stood on a warehouse rooftop adjacent to their target. The sun hung low on the horizon. It was about fifteen minutes from sunset. Beginning the mission at dusk was ideal for the bat men's purposes—the time of day when it was neither dark enough nor light enough, when unaided eyes have difficulty adjusting to the shadows. And as the night wore on, the more they would blend into the darkness.

Their target was a supply lot on the edge of the river. No buildings, only container vans piled onto stacks in a grid-like manner. Forty pirates in all, scattered into groups at strategic locations.

Plan: disable the pirates, drag their bodies to the side of the lot, then blow up the containers using targeted explosions that would keep the damage to a minimum. Terry took a deep breath. With forty pirates to take out, this was going to take them a while.

"It's been decades since your last field trip, old man. You still remember our modus?"

"We go in through the front door with guns blazing. The louder, the better. They'll never know what hit them."

"Right." Terry knew sarcasm when he heard it. "Y'know, mom always said I didn't get my sense of humor from her."

A hand signal. An acknowledgment. Terry turned on his suit's cloaking shield. In another moment the rooftop where they stood was empty.

* * *

It started from the north end of the lot. The single guards would find themselves caught in a sleeper hold, a black-gloved arm against their throats, then dragged away after they turned unconscious. Those in groups got incapacitated using quick-acting tranquilizers.

The pirates on the south side were next. They started dropping, as if by some invisible force, one by one.

* * *

Bruce had just neutralized a trio of guards when he found himself face-to-face with a purple-haired female in military fatigues. He noted the scar on the left side of her mouth.

"One on one with the fabled Bat of Gotham." She smirked.

"You're a meta," he whispered. He had seen her materialize out of thin air.

"Lowest ranked Class E and proud of it. I may only have the ability to phase through objects, but I'm a simple girl—it's enough for my needs." She exclaimed, "I want my monologue."

"No."

"You could say I demand it."

She jump-kicked. He dodged, but she hadn't been aiming for him. The stack of crates at his side crashed down towards both of them, the weapons it contained spilling all around. She phased through the falling crates while he barely had enough time to twist and protect himself. A heavy pallet pinned him down, too heavy to lift. But he could still move. He groped in his belt for a tool he could use to get free. Laser cutter? Slow. Possible. No choice.

"Frankly, you're not the one I want to monologue to. Maybe you can relay my message instead." Her voice sounded from above him. He continued cutting.

"I wasn't born a meta. Y'know those movies where a crazy evil organization hires mad scientists and forces them to experiment on street urchins? Guess what? That really happens. I was one. I was five when they took me and my friends from the streets of Macedonia. Sole survivor."

He heard explosions from the south. That could only mean that Terry had successfully neutralized all the others. It was just him and Violet now. The speech was unceasing.

"It was painful. All of my friends died, one by one, succumbing to the drugs. I was raped and tortured. But instead of breaking me it made me stronger.

"There was one thing I remember the most. One day, I had just been kidnapped and too young to know what was going on, Superman came to the village. Others were with him but I don't remember who. He was right there, just out the window, so close I felt that I could have reached him. He could have saved me. Saved all of us. Why didn't he? I shouted at him and was beaten for it." She spat in disdain. "Selective super hearing. But I suppose I should be grateful he ignored me, since I've come to love my powers."

At the back of his mind he remembered. This had happened around the time Jon Kent died. The Kryptonian's grief for his son had been so acute it affected him during missions, especially those that brought him near young ones. Likely, it was not that Superman didn't hear, but he had been so overcome with emotion that he could dare to do nothing except leave.

Clark had been in mourning for Jon when Bruce came down with the stroke that had paralyzed his left leg.

None of it mattered to the ghosts of dead children. Thirty years gone.

He finally broke the pallet that was holding him down and promptly got onto his feet. She materialized beside him. He blocked, successfully. They exchanged blows. One of his punches connected with her stomach, sending her sprawling backwards. She cursed loudly.

He hazarded a guess, "Your powers have a time limit, huh?"

"Shut up."

"It's your monologue."

As Bruce stepped towards her, she flipped backwards to stand. She ran away from him to the opposite end of another stack of containers, dove behind it, then rolled out the other side with a grenade launcher in her hands. Grinning wickedly, she aimed it at him. "Let's see how the human Bat does against an old-fashioned RPG!"

The Bat stopped prone where he stood. "If you kill me, I can't relay your message."

"Shut up!" She pulled the trigger, and a grenade lurched directly towards his head.

The sonic boom came milliseconds before the explosion hit him. Rather, the explosion _didn't_ hit him. An invisible shield, about a meter wide, kept the flames and shrapnel from dealing him any damage.

The purple-haired lady was thrown at Bruce's feet, unconscious. He quickly twisted her arms behind her back and tied her with one of the power-negating ropes lying nearby.

The remaining weapon crates one by one imploded into themselves, as if hit from above by a human-sized mallet. For good measure, a container van fell overboard with a splash. Then everything went silent, as if the phantom who had wrought all the destruction simply went up and flew off.

Terry was confused as he walked towards the older man. "What the heck was that?"

Bruce made certain there was no one within earshot before he answered, "My wife. I fitted her armor with a cloaking shield, same as what you're using now. She makes a better field tester than you do, no offense."

"None taken."

"We don't want anyone figuring out our link, hence the cloak. She insisted I carry an emergency beacon for her at all times, after what happened last episode." He sighed, "This will cost me another museum date to New York."

* * *

While police sirens blared, Barbara Gordon stepped out of the lead squad car. She made a beeline for the pair of men in black, "What the heck happened here?"

The bat said, "Operational hazards." He pointed to an unconscious figure. "Violet over there is guilty of kidnapping and attempted murder. We don't know her real name. You should get a statement from Bartholomew Allen of Central City. We'll email you with the details."

"She's Black Flag, isn't she? Wanted terrorist. There's no need for the extra charges, but thanks. Every little bit that we could stick on her would help." Barbara paused, and she wasn't happy. "I should arrest you for property damage."

"We didn't do it."

In a lowered voice, she asked, "Which Batman am I taking to?"

The man in urban camo answered, "The senile one is wearing the suit."

Barbara frowned, puzzled. "You've got extra suits, so why…? Oh. Didn't want to accidentally tip any villains off of the new status quo, eh?" She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Is it a new status quo?"

The bat said, "No. He owns Gotham for as long as he wants it. I just needed to test my wings out."

"You guys have left me one heck of a mess to clean up, as usual." She looked around, taking mental notes. After her quick scan, she turned back to them only to find the two men gone. "And I'm once more talking to myself, also as usual."

* * *

"I overheard you and Purple talking," Terry mentioned offhand. He rode shotgun while Bruce steered the batmobile across the dark Gotham streets. "That was… tough, for her. But I know you guys. If it had been possible that you could have done anything for them, you would have. Whatever happened in her past, she is obviously in her right mind now. Her decision to stay with the pirates and use her power to hurt other innocent people—that is on her alone."

Bruce nodded, almost imperceptibly. "You've been in this business long enough, Terry. Nothing is black and white. And there are some things that never get easier."

Terry changed the subject. "It's not over yet. We still need to stop the source of the black material."

"You can stop worrying about that," Bruce exclaimed. Terry glanced at him in question. "As of last week, Harper Consolidated and LexCorp have jointly managed to purchase most of Routhe Laboratories. Oliver Harper just sealed the deciding deal today that will give him majority stake." Oliver Harper, son of Roy Harper and Thea Queen and named after Thea's brother, was a League member and the current Green Arrow. "Routhe Laboratories is as good as belonging to the League.

"You should take your brother to dinner or something. Charge it to the company. He dug up most of the dirt we got on Routhe so we could hold the buyout."

* * *

The lights in the Wayne manor were dim, except for a single room in the east wing.

He found Diana on the floor by the fireplace, wearing skinny shorts and one of his oversize gray T-shirts. He smirked. She made his shirts look good. Her nose was buried in yet another book—Norse mythology this time. Ace, his Great Dane of a hound, lay with his canine head on Diana's lap. She absently scratched behind the big dog's ears as she read.

"Off. That's my spot." Ace had the cheek to growl at him. "Get your butt to the kitchen and have Kevin make you some treats." Ace's ears picked up at the word 'treats'. He lifted his head haughtily and trotted off.

Bruce made a pillow for himself on Diana's lap, where he lay facing the fire. Her legs were soft. He still puzzled about it—how these same legs that could smash through boulders like tissue paper seemed so delicate whenever he touched them. Comfortable. Cozy, in a way that had nothing to do with being home in front of the fireplace. He could get used to this.

He felt the weight of the mythology book upon his hair. "Princess…?"

"Tsk, your head is in the way. You're much bigger than Ace, you know," she complained. Well, tough luck, he was too comfortable to move away right then. Despite being used as a book rest and all.

Speaking of, "You're as old as those books. Are those stories even real?"

She replied without taking her eyes off the pages, "Well, Thor is not quite the way he's described here, but it's close enough. I still run into him in New York every now and then."

"That's interesting." The fire cackled on the hearth.

After a while, she briefly put her book away so she could ask him seriously, "Bruce, I'm sorry to drop this on you like this. The Lantern Corps just issued another summons to Scadrial. The war there… we thought it was over, but it's not." She paused, unsure how to break it to him. "The Duke of Deception is behind it. You understand, why I need to be there."

He didn't like that. Not at all. "I see. When?"

"Next week? Will you let me go?"

"How can I stop you? I hate the thought of you leaving for that planet again. I don't want you to go. At least stay until Christmas."

She nodded. "The summons is not urgent. I can delay that much at least." She went back to reading. Neither of them brought up Black Flag. Work stayed at work as much as possible. The pirate group was done, and either the League juniors or regular law enforcement could take care of any loose ends. There was nothing further that they needed to discuss with each other, or with anybody else for that matter.

She absently stroked his hair while she continued to flip pages. As he gazed into the blaze, he said, "Christmas is just around the corner. Truth be told I wasn't expecting to see Christmas this year. It seems a little silly if you think about it. We got married until death do us part, all the while expecting the death part to happen within months. Suddenly it never will. For the first time in a very long time, I find myself without a plan."

"You'll figure it out. You always do."

He sat up, taking a deep breath as he did so. Then, he said through clenched teeth, "I'm a man out of time, princess."

Anxiously, she frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

He was fulfilled. He had good health and a loving wife—the best there was. He was happy. After so many years chasing shadows in the dark, being happy simply felt …wrong. A man like him did not deserve to be in the light. "I shouldn't be here."

She closed her book and threw it like a frisbee onto the sofa across the room where it would be out of her way. He looked at her in time to see her blue eyes narrow at him. His gut told him he had said something exactly wrong, and he was treading thin ice.

In stark contrast to the room's mild heat, her tone was frigid, "I'm three thousand years old. I can't age and die. Does that make me any less of a being than you?" Blue eyes flashed in righteous fury, "Do you think you're too good for me that you can't bear to be burdened with my agelessness? That you can't accept me for who I am?"

"What?! That's not what I meant at all—"

"So what if you've been born an ordinary man? Was it J'onn's fault he's a Martian? Or Kal's that he's Kryptonian?"

"I don't want to talk about Clark right now—"

She levitated, her hands balling into fists as her body instinctively adopted a battle stance. "Don't you dare look down on my immortality!"

He cursed internally, by all the gods and goddesses he didn't believe in. Many years onward he would still find it ironic that he was married to one.

She rushed at him and he dove beside the couch. Not fast enough, she was at his side before he could blink. She swung her arm down at him, like a volleyball spike. She missed, both his head and an authentic Ming vase, just barely.

He rolled to the center of the room, away from all breakable—expensive—furniture, and he instantly stood up. As she attacked him for the third time, he sidestepped and lashed his leg at her shinbone to trip her, while simultaneously his hands went for her forearms. He quickly twisted, using his weight to topple her off-balance, and they both fell with him above.

He pinned her to the rug, his grip tight upon her wrists on the sides of her head. "What the hell was that about, princess?!" She merely glared at him in response. He glared right back.

She wasn't truly angry, he realized—he would not have been able to flip her at all if she had been going all out. He was an exceptional fighter but so was she. He slightly one-upped her on tactics, but it was physically impossible for him to top her strength or endurance. She would simply keep on coming at him no matter how many times he tripped her up. In a real, prolonged battle he would always lose to his wife. The only way he could ever pin her down like this was because she let him.

Her forehead was slightly creased, but her countenance was otherwise serene. Obsidian hair hung disheveled around her face as she lay flat on her back. Pert nose. Flawless pearlescent cheekbones. Cherry pink lips. She never wore makeup. His gaze turned to her perfect eyes. A blue, unreachable infinity. He could fall into those azure depths for forever, irrevocably drown, and never regret a moment.

She nervously licked her lips. "You're thinking that we are going to have sex right now on this rug, aren't you?"

He blinked, startled out of his reverie. "Actually, I was just— Well—" Abruptly he broke into a wide, mischievous grin, like a cat who got into the cream, ultra-deluxe special, "Wife, that's a great idea. We haven't made nookie in this room yet."

"Bruce! What if we're seen—"

As if he cared. He stopped all her further protests with his mouth.


	12. Not Anybody's Business

A/N: Welp, it looks like am indeed doing smut between each episode. It's fun, ok? It's what married-and-crazy-in-love people do. I don't need a reason. Some parts would seem silly if you think too hard about it. Hooray for apt chapter title.

* * *

 **Not Anybody's Business  
**

 _Timeline: Immediately after Black Flag_

* * *

Bruce Wayne absently combed his hand through disheveled black hair as he stared at the batcomputer monitor. He felt a little cold, and briefly regretted that he had just grabbed the nearest shirt and jeans when he dressed up that morning. At the moment, however, temperature was the least of his concerns.

Graphs of all sorts were on display at the screens in front of him, and he kept his eyes on the environmental measurements. The numbers he saw, to his delight, were supremely promising. A timer dinged.

In the middle of the clear space behind him, Wonder Woman wearing full battle armor gradually faded into view. He promptly walked over to her and pulled the tiny projector from the middle of her tiara, stealing a quick kiss as he did so. "Success," he stated.

He turned around and walked towards his workable, eager to make final adjustments to the finished, fully-functional cloaking shield projector. The challenge had been to develop a device that, unlike the full-body wrap required by his prior cloaking technology—the one used by Terry—instead could be mounted undetected onto his beautiful wife's regalia. At last, after weeks of experimentation, they had done it. No longer a prototype, now production-ready.

Diana leaned over his shoulder, mildly curious, "I never imagined the day would come when I could list 'invisibility' as part of my arsenal," she commented.

"Is that bad?"

"No." In a mischievous tone, she continued, "I can think of other bad things, though."

"Hmm?" He was already tinkering at a circuit board and had only half-heard her.

"My love, can you promise me one thing? Just for today?"

"Anything as long as it's not too crazy."

"Not at all. I just want you to promise that you'll continue what you're doing. Don't mind me whatever happens."

He froze, ever so imperceptibly. "What are you planning…?"

"Just say yes."

Silence. When he finally answered, his reluctance was evident. "Alright."

He lost his sense of her position. Cursing internally at his promise, he forced himself to keep his eyes and hands on the table.

He jerked in surprise as he felt a gentle rubbing on his crotch. Shit. So she did have naughty plans for him. His I.Q. was starting to go out the window.

Nimble fingers pulled his fly open and two dainty hands gently pushed his legs apart.

"Don't you dare look away from that circuit board," she warned.

"Princess," he said, his voice extremely hoarse, "you certainly make tall requests."

"Not the only one that's tall," she said brokenly as she licked up his entire length. He groaned.

"From the race of _female_ Amazon warriors, where—where did you learn that?"

"Jealous?"

"Maybe. Hell no, unless your arsenal includes a magic self-repairing hymen, I know I'm the only—" he broke off, unable to stop another groan.

"Would you believe the Kama Sutra is up for free reading on Project Gutenberg? Although it's tame compared to Stephanie's romance novels."

"I'm half-interested. The other half is scared. God damn it," he seethed, "I can't do it. Get up here!"

He slid the circuit board away from him, reached underneath and pulled her up by her armpits, then sat her on the worktable in front of him. He didn't care where her mouth had been. He needed to kiss her right then, right there, and so he did, hungrily. He slid his hands under her skirt and up her thighs, pulled off her panties and sheathed himself inside her. His entire body heated up in simultaneous pleasure and relief. She loosely wrapped her legs around his waist. He took his time as he moved, not rushing anywhere, simply enjoying being with her.

After a while he broke the kiss so he could tell her, "You do realize that after last time we got too close to each other here, I bought you a bed—it's just a meter to your right side—exactly for this purpose? Yet here we go again, happily screwing our brains out on the hardwood table."

"Are you uncomfortable?"

"I feel great," he spoke through his teeth.

"Then don't stop."

"I wouldn't, but Terry uses this table too. Not for this," he immediately clarified.

"What we do, in this cave, is not anybody's business. Terry can go to…" she trailed off as he glared ominously at her. "Fine." Without further preamble, she levitated.

Bruce refused to be outdone. He leveraged his hands firmly on her hip bones and continued their movement, like he was doing push-ups, to her vexation. "Gods! In the air?" Oh, gods, he was good. Her hips twitched involuntarily as he pumped, and she tightened her legs around him.

"Tricky, but the weight training is paying off. Princess, bring us down. Couch, now."

She floated over to land themselves on the red couch, maintaining their orientation. "Please don't tell me it's voice activated."

"Kick activated. Sorry," he pulled away and she immediately gaped at the sense of loss. He kicked at a hidden panel behind one of the couch feet, and it lurched underneath her as it expanded to full-size. He was back with her just as quickly. She grabbed at his shoulders as he connected their bodies once more.

"Off! Shirt off! Want your skin," she tugged at his sleeves.

"As you command," he answered. He pulled his shirt off and threw it behind him, quickly forgotten.

She mewled. "Better."

He lifted one of her legs up and braced it across his chest, angling her knee just so. A position he particularly enjoyed. "Ready?"

Was she ever. He moved, in a rhythm so sweet and familiar she found it as comforting as much as it was arousing. No matter how many times he made love to her, whether they were trying new positions or falling back to the simple standbys when neither of them felt adventurous—it never got old.

* * *

They lay languid beside each other as they finished. At some point Diana had managed to lose her armor. She pressed her naked back to her husband's chest as he tightly pressed has arms around her waist.

He spoke, his voice unusually soft. "Normally, doing what we do as often as we do it… Don't we have to worry about the pitter-patter of little feet?"

Diana shook her head. "I don't know if I can bear children. I was sculpted from clay. I'm not the same as my Amazon sisters, who were borne by real mothers. I… I think I can, but I think I'm not going to, unless I want to. It's like how my lasso can physically bind me but I won't lose my strength unless I will it."

"Do you want to? Or should I not have asked?"

"It's alright. I was wondering which of us would bring it up." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I have tried not to think about it. Someday… maybe I want to. Do you?"

"In regards to this, I want only what you want."

She knew, he already had children. Damian, Terry, Matt, and all the Robins and the Batgirls who while not blood-related he had treated as if they were his own. In the life span of mortal men, he had already proven himself to be a great father, many times over. He had not been perfect, but he had done the best he could nonetheless.

Would he care for yet another one? With her? She could not bring herself to voice it seriously, afraid of what his answer would be. Afraid he would not want her. Or worse, afraid he would lie to himself to please her.

Someday, she would find the courage to ask. The day had not yet come.

Half-asleep, he asked, "Why are you here, Diana?"

"Hmmm?" She noted he called her by name and not by pet title.

"Three thousand years. All those men who vied for you, great ones among them, I'm sure. Why choose me, with all my issues? I am but an ordinary man."

She had asked herself the same, countless times over many years. And each time without fail, she had an answer. "Because you care for the world, despite—or maybe because—that you are an ordinary man. I love you and your issues, Bruce. So much. Didn't you ever think that you wouldn't be who you are without them?"

Of course he did, but knowing did not make any of it easier to live with. "Diana—"

"I love _all_ of you. I always have."

She could tell from his expression that a part of him still refused to let himself believe her. Someday, she was certain he eventually would. If she had to speak it over and over, or die for him, or live for him, or fuck him every which way…

They had the rest of eternity to figure it out.


	13. Jester Becomes King

**Jester Becomes King**

 _Timeline: sometime before Ashes of Eden_

* * *

The unmarked plane hovered over the sea near the shores of Themyscira, over water. Bruce Wayne climbed down from the hatch. He wore a formal business suit, as befitted one of his standing in life, yet casual enough that it allowed him to move comfortably and freely. But barefoot, in preparation for what he was about to do.

He jumped into the sea, the waters rising knee deep. His clothes were soaked but with a mental note he understood this was necessary. He could change in the plane afterwards. He remotely commanded his plane to climb above to cruising altitude.

He walked toward the island, stopping before he reached the beach, and knelt down upon the surf. In his position the waves reached up to his thighs. He raised his hands in a gesture of supplication as the Amazon guards arrived at him with their spears drawn.

For no man may set foot on Themyscira without leave.

"I am Bruce Wayne of Gotham, consort to her highness the princess Diana. I humbly request an audience with her majesty the Queen Hippolyta."

For long anxious moments he knelt there, until the queen herself arrived.

"Stand up. Get out of the water," she told him. In a loud commanding voice, she proclaimed, "Let it be known that I have accepted this man Bruce Wayne as part of my family. As consort to my daughter, Diana, he who was once but no longer a mortal man is allowed to set foot upon our soil."

They walked in silence to the palace. One of the guards handed him a towel to dry himself, which he accepted gratefully.

Out of earshot of the others, the queen told him, "You've been here before, hero of Themyscira. Our doors are no longer closed to you. I do appreciate how you paid respect to our laws today. Unnecessary but very much appreciated."

She led their entourage across the palace grounds, past the throne room and into a study. The terracotta walls were adorned with spears and shields. At the center of the room was a long redwood table, and the queen sat at its head. The guards took their places by the doors. The queen indicated him to sit beside her.

"What brings you here? Alone?"

Bruce answered somberly, "War broke again in Scadrial and Diana has once more answered the Lantern Corps summons."

"And why did you not?"

"I am not affiliated with the League at present." He went straight to the purpose of his visit, "The last time Diana went off-world, she almost died, if she had to return here to recover. Your majesty, is there anything, anything at all that could maybe save her should she ever find herself in another dangerous situation?"

The queen went silent for a moment, in thought. "If by chance I do possess what you're asking for, don't you think I would have given it to her already?"

"I have but a fool's hope."

"In the right circumstances even a fool becomes a king. As a matter of fact, there is something I could give you. It is impossible for Diana to use it on herself, so I have never told her about it. You on the other hand…" she trailed off. She motioned to one of the guards. The guard approached, and the queen whispered several instructions to her ear. She nodded and left the room.

While they waited for the guard to return, Bruce broke the silence, "Your majesty, if I may ask… This is not the purpose of my visit, but I've always wondered. Why did you give me ambrosia?"

She replied to his question with another question. "What does Superman, Alexander the Great, and Genghis Khan have in common?"

"The same middle name?"

"Is that a joke? Us Amazons are not particularly known for having a sense of humor." The queen merely continued, "Diana marched in their armies, and in the end they all wanted my daughter. Note the past tense—I don't think it applies to the foremost, her marriage to you be damned."

"Clark doesn't have an army," he objected.

She spat, "Don't tell me the Justice League is not an army. It's the most powerful one this world has ever seen." He grudgingly admitted that the queen had a point.

"I had very much hoped she would choose Superman. But the fact is, she chose you. Three thousand years of existence, she chose you. Against kings and emperors who had landscaped history, she chose you. Against a meta with powers as great as that of our gods, she chose you. Even when you were old, decrepit and dying, she would take no one but you. Can you see that? How significant it is?"

"I am the person who by far holds the greatest esteem for your daughter, your majesty."

"You better be," she retorted. "In any case, I respect my daughter's decisions. Cliche as it sounds, I want only her happiness. You do love her, don't you? With you, I could never tell."

"I love her more than life. She is the sun to my everlasting night."

"How poetic," she remarked acidly as she looked pointedly at him. And then her eyes widened. "By the gods, you actually mean it."

He grimaced. "Diana would never let me live it down if she she heard me say that."

"Ahaha, don't I know it. I'll keep your secret. But do let her know how you feel someday, alright? It would make her happy."

The guard arrived right then. In her arms she carried a cubic wooden box, each side half as long as her forearm, and a rolled-up scroll already yellowed with age. She placed both items on the table in front of the queen.

The queen opened the wooden box. Inside was a small silver container the size of a matchbox, unadorned. The queen demonstrated how to open and seal it, then handed it to him. "This is airtight. Take some of our clay and keep it in here. The clay on the borders of Tartarus is more potent than the clay we have here above ground. It's best if you take that."

"Clay?"

"Yes. Diana is born from clay, and to clay she will return. In extreme circumstances the clay may help repair a fatal wound. Keyword is 'may'. The clay will only react when she is on the verge of returning to it. At that point, she might as well be dead. I hope you never have to use it."

"If it's for Diana's sake I will do anything. I cannot thank you enough."

"Don't thank me. You're the one who's going to do all the work." She opened the yellowed scroll to reveal a map of the island. "Do you remember where the entrance to Tartarus is located? You will have to cross the quicksand meadows and the forest of tears…"

"Your majesty, I have a plane."

She smirked. "Of course. The plane would make the trip easy. That just leaves Cerberus, the River Styx and the lava pits. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread."

"There's no fool like an old fool. Old fools never die, they just fade away."

"You didn't come here, braving the wrath of my warriors, just to exchange puns with me, did you?"

"My apologies, your majesty."

"Hah, you're not sorry at all. It's fine," she conceded. "I think I'm starting to see what Diana sees in you. I am still rooting for Superman, you know. Blame it on my upbringing if you wish—the Amazons prize strength above all others. But don't feel bad. There is all the time in the world for me to change my mind. I'm certainly open to it." She smiled at him.

Bruce pocketed the silver container. Coincidentally, it looked like it would fit precisely in one of his utility belt pouches, as if made for it exactly. He stood up and made ready to leave.

The queen said, "I answered your questions, so it's only fair you answer some of mine. How many children do you have?"

"Three sons. One biological, two genetic."

"Do you think that, maybe someday, you would endeavor to have a daughter? Although I wouldn't object to a grandson either."

"That's really up to Diana, isn't it? As for me, honestly, I—" suddenly his voice croaked, to his surprise. The beautiful Diana carrying his babe? His throat felt dry and he was unable to speak.

The Queen of the Amazons laughed, quite loudly. "You should see your face. I suppose it's a hundred years too early for me to ask that question.

"Go on, you still have an appointment with a three-headed dog."


	14. Cold Hands: Cool With It

**Cold Hands, Warm Heart** : Cool With It

* * *

A small plane cut through the stillness of outer space just above the earth's atmosphere. The glow of twin jet engines were barely visible under black concave wings as it steadily made its way towards the Justice League's preeminent headquarters. Seemingly unnoticed, it docked onto one of the Watchtower's lower piers.

The dark costumed figure strode purposely into the monitor womb, his steps making hardly any sound. Superman looked up from his terminal to greet him. "Bruce," he said, somewhat surprised. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Batman went straight to the point. "This is a bit of a personal matter. I'm calling in a favor."

"What is it?"

"There is a generous prize on both Oliver Harper and Lena Luthor's heads. The timing makes me suspect Black Flag is behind it. Probably one of the leaders we haven't lured into the open yet. The notice is making rounds among the metahuman bounty hunters, and it makes me concerned. Green Arrow can handle himself, but Lena won't stand a chance. I can't spare Terry. He's not suited for this kind of task in any case." He took a breath. "I need a bodyguard for Lena."

"A personal bodyguard for Lena Luthor," Clark repeated mechanically. "Does Diana know you're coming here? To make this specific request?"

"I couldn't tell her the exact hour, because I wasn't sure myself, but she knows I'd make the trip today."

"Why do you need this? I'm not saying I won't help, but what's Lena to you?"

"Lena is like a daughter to me," Bruce answered. Clark raised a Kryptonian eyebrow at him. He continued, emphasizing each word, "Just like all the Robins and the Batgirls I've taken under my wing."

"I see. Didn't you and Barbara end up…?"

"What's with the questions, Clark? I thought we were past this."

Superman could not keep the sting out of his retort, "You're married to the most wonderful woman in the world, and you're asking me to do a private favor for a girl whom you have often publicly flirted with—Alexander Luthor's only child, no less—who is young enough to be your granddaughter! Do you have any freaking idea how the situation looks like?" A pause. Clark sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair. In a calmer tone he said, "I'm sorry, Bruce. That was low of me. I do know better. I guess I just miss Lois and Jon."

The thirty-year old Bruce would have left it at that. But, fifty years onward, he wasn't the detached man he once was. Fifty years changed people. So, in a manner that the young dark knight of vengeance would not have done, he admitted, "It was lonely."

Clark looked at him expectantly, listening. He explained, "The years after I left the League were lonely. The endless nights of crime-fighting had a price and took its toll on my body. I suffered a stroke and lost the use of my left leg. I lost count how many surgeries it took before I could walk again. And I lost other things.

"It was tough, having to face death on a daily basis. Shameful. I wasn't facing the kind of honorable death you could find in the battlefield. Instead I worried, unable to leave the manor, wondering if I would wake up the next morning.

"Terry came around, and for a while I was okay. But the loneliness wasn't something he could understand. Then Terry went on to have a real family, and I was mostly left alone again. Until Lena.

"In a certain way, Lena understood me. She's an unbelievably strong empath, so there was no way I could hide from her what I was going through. She has no family, plus she grew up carrying all that guilt over what her father had done. Youngest CEO of LexCorp. You can't deny that we had a lot in common. Lena needed a mentor, but… truth be told it was I that needed to mentor her."

After a long silence, Clark smiled warmly at him. "I've always known that the brooding bat has a human heart. I'm glad that now you know it too."

Behind the mask, Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Quit while you're ahead."

* * *

The set of buildings occupied by the offices of a single multinational company encompassed an entire block within Metropolis. Located at some distance from the city center, away from the tightly-packed skyscrapers that made up the city's prime real estate, this particular company could afford to be surrounded by trees and open spaces.

A dark-skinned man loitered in front of the foremost structure. Six-foot-two, muscular, close-cropped black hair, wearing an off-white polo shirt, denim slacks and red-striped sneakers. A medium gray backpack slung over both shoulders contained his equipment. He was supposed to be incognito. He couldn't do anything about his still-healing right arm slung inside an orthopedic cast, but his instructions were to be discreet, not camouflaged, and he figured his ensemble was good enough.

 _Never imagined I'd ever get to actually visit LexCorp,_ he thought to himself. _And on a goodwill mission, no less._

As the son of John Stewart and Shayera Hol, two among the Justice League founders, while growing up he had never heard any good stories about Alexander Luthor's corporation. During the turn of the twenty-first century, LexCorp had been one of the prominent companies in the field of emerging technologies, particularly mechatronics, and was often in direct competition with Wayne Enterprises. Unlike the latter, LexCorp's products had from time-to-time been put into applications that were ambiguously ethical. He remembered his father's bedtime tales, and there were many. Looking back at it now, his father had probably exaggerated some of the more exciting parts.

In his mind, he knew that all of his parents' stories were solidly in the past. The company had long ago moved away from robotics and nowadays dealt almost exclusively in renewable energy. LexCorp had not been run by a megalomaniac for over a quarter-century. But biases die hard, and Rex couldn't help his uneasiness.

The fifteen-meter statue of Lex Luthor that he remembered from his parents' old photos was nowhere to be seen. At the center of the square, two stories high, stood a machine that looked like a combination wind turbine and solar panel. Flowering shrubs grew around the contraption, bountiful, elegantly arranged and cared for. Witch hazel, two kinds of roses, and painted ferns. To his surprise, he observed that the machine was activated, and was in fact feeding the plants.

He had read about these a while back. Instead of producing electricity, it used energy from the sun to siphon elements from the air and soil to allow plants to grow in places that they normally could not. The idea had been to use the device in terraforming uninhabitable earth-like planets outside the solar system. However, because the number of government and/or corporate entities that actually had any space exploration programs were zero, this never came to fruition. Three years ago LexCorp, after acquiring several patents from Wayne Enterprises, successfully modified the machines to work more efficiently upon earth itself. The machines were then deployed across the globe as a small but essential part of the _Wayne-Luthor No Hungry Home World Food Program_ , with the ultimate goal of permanently ending world hunger. The program has been mostly successful, three years on and going strong.

The sight of LexCorp displaying a symbol of hope instead of a memorial to a supervillain made Rex feel better about his assignment. Just a little.

* * *

"ID, please?" asked the doe-eyed lady behind the information counter.

He pulled out his wallet and handed her a card, and she started on seeing his Justice League identification. She passed it under the mini UV light on her desk to verify its authenticity. Satisfied of his credentials, she handed the card back.

"Mr. Warhawk? Rex Stewart?" He nodded in affirmation. Most Leaguers possessed a secret identity. For himself, since his father didn't, and as an half-alien, he didn't see the point why he should. "You're expected. Penthouse level. Elevators are on the corridor to the left."

Before he could move away, she first had something to ask. "Uhm, sir?" she whispered covertly, "May I have your autograph? I'm very sorry, I know this is a little unprofessional, but my daughter is a big Justice League fan," she grinned sheepishly. "Please, can you sign it, 'to Tasha'?"

She shyly handed him a fountain pen and a white sheet of bond paper. He picked up the pen with his left hand. Then he hesitated. He was right-handed. Putting on a game face, he bravely transferred the pen to his constrained appendage and awkwardly attempted to write.

The receptionist gasped, "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry for the trouble, it's so inconsiderate of me," she whispered, furiously apologetic.

He held up his good hand to reassure her. "It's alright," he said. "No big deal." He finished the note with a flourish. She thanked him as she took the paper, grinning happily.

As he turned the end of the corridor, he thought he heard her squeal.

* * *

When he exited the elevator, he could overhear two people in the middle of a low-key discussion. The baritone was a tall, dark-haired man in a navy-blue business suit and saw him immediately. He acknowledged Rex's presence while politely remained listening to the other. The blonde lady in the seafoam dress faced away from him, straight-backed with her hands crossed over her chest.

"I'll keep that in mind, Lena," said the man.

"Oh, please do," said Lena. She held her arm out, and the two shook hands. "I shall eagerly await your reply."

The man left, passing him. Lena turned, and he saw her in person for the first time. An unadorned silver Catholic cross hung upon a long chain upon her neck, dully gleaming. She had a plain face, except her eyes were a vivid green.

"Can I help you?"

"Good morning, Miss Luthor. I'm Rex Stewart from the Justice League. Superman sent me today."

"Ah." She clasped her hands. "Warhawk?" Remembering her manners, she held her hand out. "Please call me Lena. Everyone does."

Her handshake was firm.

"So you're gonna be my escort?"

"I prefer the term bodyguard."

"I've seen you in the news. I think you're amazing. I think all the League members are. But I never realized you were so…" she trailed off, unable to find words.

"What do you mean?"

She indicated the cast on his arm. "Well, either Superman thinks I'm easy to guard, or he trusts you that much, he sent you even if you haven't fully recovered. I know enough about him that it could only be the latter." She clarified, "I mean it as a compliment."

"Thanks," he replied, keeping his expression neutral. He still wasn't sure what to make of her.

Lena distractedly scratched her cheek as if thinking. "Can I get an opinion?"

"Sure."

"Matthew McGinnis," she said, referring to the man who had recently left. "That young man is a tycoon in the making. I wonder if Bruce knows. He probably does, right?"

"Huh?"

She looked at him, then blinked twice. "Nevermind. I've been trying to recruit Mr. McGinnis into LexCorp but none of my offers have gotten even a nibble. Maybe I'm not convincing enough? Can you give me some insight? Do you think I should try to be more persuasive or should I back off and try again later?"

"I honestly have no idea," he answered. She blinked again. To his consternation, he discovered himself getting irritated with those emerald orbs.

"Well, I'm honestly sorry you have been forcefully stuck with me. Come on, then. Let's get you settled."

* * *

The Justice League International branch were headquartered in Helsinki, Finland. Past office hours and on a Saturday, Wonder Woman walked down the hall towards the one-room office of Themysciran affairs.

"Knock knock," she said without actually knocking as she opened the oak door. "Santa's here," she announced.

"Presents!" Donna Troy jumped up from behind a stack of paperwork. "Sis! It's been a while. A few months? How are you? How is married life?"

Diana laughed genially. It was always a pleasure to visit her sister. "Married life is okay. You'd find most of it boring. Except for the odd sleeping arrangements, it's not that much different from being single." She handed her sister a bag containing Christmas gifts, which the other accepted gratefully. Strictly, they didn't celebrate Yuletide on Paradise Lost, but no Amazon was going to turn down free presents.

"I'm here on business. Any news on the EWS?"

Natural magic protected their island home from outsiders. But mankind's population growth over the last half century meant that unexplored ocean space had dwindled exponentially. The Amazonian fishing boats had sighed more ships in the past ten years than they had in the past ten centuries combined. At some point the weak magic protecting them might not be enough.

So they turned to technology, and they decided that their most viable tech would be an Early Warning System. The EWS would alert them to any ship that arrived within range of their island, and give them well enough time to deploy warriors that could divert the intruders away.

The magic would still be there. But technology and magic together meant Themyscira would have a better chance.

Donna Troy, as official ambassador of Themyscira, had shopped around for a trustworthy supplier. Such a huge undertaking was of course going to be expensive, and as of a couple of weeks ago, the negotiations with their supplier had stalled. Wonder Woman had then gotten pulled into League duties and was unable to follow up.

Donna told her the news. "Everything is all set. Let me tell you that things started to go really smoothly for us after your public announcement—you know, that talk show with Steve Harvey. Apparently, our supplier is an arm of Wayne Enterprises, and they gave us a really good price. It made me abruptly change my mind about your husband.

Plus we got a bonus. Our liaison mentioned they'd like to fit the EWS with cloaking tech that will make the entire island effectively invisible from all types of sensors. Light, the entire electromagnetic spectrum, radar, doppler, sonar. The island can't be observed until you practically hit it. It's the most advanced developed yet." Donna looked impressed. "Did you know anything about this?"

Diana's jaw dropped. "I've been field testing Bruce's cloaking prototypes, and he's had several breakthroughs just recently. I know he already uses it on the Batwing, but this is the first time I've heard he was going to apply it to anything so large. He hasn't told me."

"Saving it as a Christmas present, maybe?" Donna surmised. She abruptly did a double-take. "Wait, did you say Batwing?" She clasped her hands over her mouth in astonishment, then whispered, "Bruce Wayne is Batman?!"

Oops. "I thought you already knew. Mother does."

"I'll bet mom does. Ahahaha," Donna's laugh echoed loudly in the empty room. She clutched at her stomach, overcome with mirth. "Haaah, now I get it. It all makes so much sense." She pressed her lips together, her eyes glinting as she brought up memories that, with her newfound knowledge, suddenly had a different facet to it—or several. "So much sense now. Oh Hera. Batman is my brother-in-law." She patted her older sister on the shoulder in reassurance. "Don't worry, the secret is safe with me.

"I still haven't forgiven you for not inviting me to your wedding. I may not have liked the guy for how he treated you years ago, but I'm still your sister."

"Sorry. It was purely a spur of the moment thing."

"But what about Mom!"

"Mother would have killed me. You wouldn't." The younger Amazon pouted at her. Diana briefly looked out the window. The orange-hued sky told her it was just past sunset, and she had to get going.

"Sis," Donna turned to her seriously. "Why is your name on the Lantern Corps roster?"

Silence. Diana opened her mouth to speak, but Donna grew agitated and didn't wait for her to reply. "You know that planet messes up metahumans, right? Luckily us Amazons were immune. We can laugh at it now, but the other Titans had it pretty horrible when we were there. Beastman lost the ability to talk. Starfire kept sinking onto the ground, and she had to fly constantly just to stay where she was. Raven couldn't maintain a corporeal form at all on the planetary surface. She ended up sitting the war out in a starship doing intelligence analysis.

"Do you really have to go?" she pleaded. "You were hurt pretty bad last time. The Lantern Corps can get someone else to quell the small rebellion."

Diana shook her head. "I have unfinished business there."

"What does Bruce say?"

"He's—" _cool with it,_ she wanted to say, but the words refused to come out no matter how she tried. Ah, of course. She was the demigoddess of truth and no falsehood may escape her lips. Instead she said, "He doesn't like it, but he won't stop me."

* * *

 **A/N** : DaisyJane, if you ever read this, I'm sorry for the inconsistency. I understand Donna knew about Bruce's secret identity, but I kept the scene this way because it flows with the story better.

Can I just say, Lotslover has been a huuuuuuge inspiration while writing this. I quit on Black Flag so many times in frustration, that's why it took so long to update. But Lotsy just keeps on writing and never gives up. I can always count on her for my BMWW fix. Go read her stuff! Go Binge! It's great!


	15. Cold Hands: Selfish Philanthropy

**Cold Hands, Warm Heart:** Selfish Philantrophy

* * *

"I'm surprised you know how to drive." Lena said with a slight quirk to her lips.

"And why is that?"

"I sorta just assumed you flew everywhere. I guess that's silly." She grinned sheepishly at him, before turning her gaze out the passenger window.

Rex Stewart had his good hand on the wheel of an official LexCorp vehicle, a beige four-seater sedan. He had insisted on driving despite his bad arm. Most vehicles those days used automatic transmission, could be driven with minimal input, and didn't use foot pedals, therefore allowing the handicapped to drive. Piece of cake. It might seem remarkable to those who only knew him by his Justice League persona, but he in fact knew how to drive a fifty-year-old manual transmission.

Early morning sunlight shone through the windows on his side of the car as they drove westward on the north bank of Metropolis bordering the river. Today was Christmas Eve.

"I'm surprised we're taking a beat-up Volvo," he commented.

The other wrinkled her nose. "I never liked the fancy limos. I only ever use them where it's necessary. Besides, a fancy car is just asking for trouble where we're going."

"So where are we going?"

"To the edge of No Man's Land."

"In the Gotham suburbs?" he asked. "You're not scared?"

"Why would I be? The poorest of Gotham is a far cry from the slums of Manila." Her sudden change in tone caused him to glance briefly at her, but it passed quickly. He turned the car into the suspension bridge crossing the Delaware. The sublime waters of the river glistened below them, disturbed only by a gentle landward breeze. Beautiful day. Normally, he would enjoy it.

There were plenty of worse jobs in the world than being Lena Luthor's live-in bodyguard. It had been six days since he embarked on this special assignment of indefinite duration. Officially, he was still on medical leave from the League. But the two months he had spent recuperating from a fractured arm had him bored out of his wits, so when Clark called to ask if he would take this mission in an unofficial capacity, he jumped eagerly at the opportunity. Anything to get out of his apartment. This was his choice and he ought to make the best of it. So far, it had been hit or miss.

His mornings started at 6:00 am, half an hour before the lady got out of bed, so he was ready to meet her in the living room of her 350-square meter penthouse before she began her workday. Since the girl's posh residence was located at the top floor of the LexCorp 42-story main headquarters, their commute to the office was practically non-existent.

The week before the Yuletide holidays meant that Lena had to attend more events than usual. There was often one conference in the morning and a couple of parties in the afternoon. The conferences, held at LexCorp proper, were no problem at all. However, the Christmas parties involved quite a bit of travel in and out of the city—not to mention the crowds—and presented him some challenges.

He managed quite well, if he did say so himself. He never lost sight of her except when she used the bathroom. Sticking to a wall while keeping his ward in his line of vision had generally sufficed, but during the more packed affairs he stuck by her elbow. Lena was cooperative, and discreet. She introduced him simply as Rex, her associate, recently hired.

During the few instances they arrived back at LexCorp before dinnertime, Lena would steer them towards the cafeteria on the twenty-third floor to get takeout. He would carry the brown paper bag upstairs and they would eat in silence in her smallish kitchen. After the meal, they moved to the living room. She would sit on one end of the off-white couch with her laptop in hand to …audit stuff. He took the other end of the couch and the TV remote, and they would sorta just lounge around like that until bedtime.

He had to acknowledge that her guest room was more palatable than his spartan Watchtower quarters. En suite bathroom, double bed, desk, netbook, landline phone, a shelf stocked with fiction and nonfiction classics, all the basic amenities. He also had a flat-screen TV with a video game console—the model was several years old but adequate. Pretty cushy job all in all, he grudgingly admitted. He almost thought it was a joke.

Lena herself was generally fun to be around. The kind of girl who blatantly wore her heart out on her sleeve and couldn't ever hold a straight face. She drank a lot of green rooibos tea. She was efficient with her work, but became ditzy once work hours were over. No one who got to know her habits would think she was a savvy business executive, but he had learned long ago to never judge a person by appearances. They got along well enough, and he had to admit it was mostly through her initiative. One issue he had was, when it came to certain things, she was extremely stubborn.

She insisted, "I really don't need a bodyguard. Honestly, I wonder why Superman would assign you to protect me. He and I aren't even friends. I barely talk to him once a year."

He merely shrugged. "No idea."

She observed, "You don't seem to have many ideas."

"I do, just not about the questions you've asked so far."

"Touché. Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything."

"I'm pretty sure you did."

She poked her tongue out at him, but refused to drop the issue. "Again, I don't need a bodyguard. You know about my power, right? You must have been briefed about that." He nodded, remembering the thick file Superman had sent him. She went on, "Let me tell you that it takes extreme prejudice to be able to pull a trigger to take someone's life, and I can sense that from five kilometers away. Ten kilometers if the guy really, really hates me. I'm sure it's alright if you just go on along your merry way."

If her power was that strong, and she could sense duplicity, then her colleagues at LexCorp must certainly be only well-intentioned people she could trust. That made him feel good, odd as it was. But that was beside the point. "You may be able to sense the gunner, but you can't stop a bullet, can you?"

"I could at least—"

"Look, I just do what I'm told to do." They've had this discussion before. Ten times in fact. He was keeping count.

"Well, me too." That was a new reply. She slumped into her seat. "Join the food program, he said. See the world, he said. It'll be fun, he said. I wouldn't be surprised if this whole bodyguard thing was Bruce's idea too. Somehow. Even if that doesn't make sense."

He had to ask, "You keep talking about a Bruce. Who is he, anyway?"

"Huh, I thought the name of the food program made it obvious. He's my mentor, Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises."

"The old playboy?" he said. She winced at the term. Apparently he hit a nerve. "He was in the news recently. Can't remember why."

"The success of our food program?"

"Nah, more sensational."

She rolled her eyes. "Turned immortal after getting married to Wonder Woman? She's your teammate, I can't believe you missed that."

"That's it. Hey," He got defensive, "I had been decommissioned for a month before it happened. I have never been assigned together with Wonder Woman, and I go out of my way to avoid cafeteria gossip." Especially recently, after rumors about him and Mareena had begun to float around.

"But don't you read the news at all?"

"Not much. Okay, I did see you on the news, maybe twice. Your mentor was never in it."

She explained, "He doesn't like publicity at all nowadays. I take care of organization management, basically all the extrovert work. The media gives me sole credit for the food program but they have no idea how much Bruce does for it behind the scenes. It's not money either. Anyone can give money. But the logistics, the tech… made with his own two hands."

They drove in silence for a while. He glanced at their GPS. They were half an hour away from their destination. "Cold hands, warm heart," Rex finally said.

"Huh?"

"My dad often says it. It means even if someone doesn't look like he cares, he may actually care a lot and just never show it." In a lighter tone, he added, "My mom is a little like that too."

* * *

Mid-morning found them driving into the most poverty-stricken community within the Gotham residential areas. Eighty year old run-down houses with peeling paint and unkempt yards all around, except for the occasional well-tended domicile dotting the urbanscape. Not a soul could be seen outdoors. They passed by a dilapidated community gate, which broke the span of a long concrete wall. He frowned. He had a suspicion the gates were once used to lock people in, and not out.

Their destination was a warehouse-like building with a red-painted aluminum roof and whitewashed walls. Rex carefully parallel parked by the curb. As he turned off the car's ignition, Lena explained, "Medical Mission. A necessity in this area, but this place had been neglected by the government for some time. Volunteers kept it running, sometimes with money out of their own pockets. About two months ago there was a suicide nearby—the guy was an obsessive Justice League fan. The news photos were pretty gruesome, but that's the media for you. Before he died he had been stealing his meds from here. I'm really sad about what happened, however that incident brought this place to our attention. Now we are able to do something.

"Today's itinerary," she said as she handed him a list on a folded piece of bond paper. She gestured at the building with her thumb. "Do you wanna go with me or stay in the car? It's cool, either way."

He skimmed through the list. Two more medical missions after this one. Six homeless shelters. Across Gotham and Starling City before going back round to Metropolis. Through the poorest, most crime-ridden neighborhoods. On Christmas Eve. When the rest of her staff were away on holiday. Why didn't she tell him about this before today?

He realized he had said that last sentence aloud, because Lena replied to him, evasively, "I have to do this, Rex. I've been doing this for years without a special bodyguard, and I've been fine." She then opened the passenger door, got out, and headed for the building. Rex promptly followed suit.

It didn't make sense. She didn't make sense. Nobody can be this good, he thought. Especially not Alexander Luthor's biological daughter.

She stopped walking, then turned to face him. "Is there anything you want to tell me? I have been nothing but accommodating to you, you know. We have been playing this game all week."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Please don't lie to me. We were just talking about my powers. I can sense your distrust." Her voice was soft, but firm. "l have dealt with people like you all my life, Rex. Do you have any idea what it's like growing up as the daughter of a supervillain? And that's not even the worst of it, not by a long shot."

Her green eyes glinted and he had the distinct impression of a sleeping dragon waking with anger. "I'm an empath. I didn't ask to be born this way. Whether I want to or not, I can feel everyone's emotions. Anger, sadness, pain! So, let me tell you, no, all my philanthropy actually has very, very selfish reasons behind it. I'm not doing it out of any goodness of heart. That tiny dose of sensed happiness I get everytime I make someone smile means I don't have to deal with feeling their despair!"

He stood still and found no words to reply. But it wasn't necessary as they were interrupted by the screeching of children playing tag. Lena turned in time to see a pair of toddlers chasing each other to the side of the mission, where they disappeared from view.

She was furious. "Kids? Why are there kids here? This is a homeless mission! I thought we've found all of them shelters already! Did we miss any? No kid should be homeless! Not in my city!"

Her indignation at him seemed all but forgotten as she stomped off towards the building.

* * *

The tan-walled four-bedroom bungalow with the terracotta roof was, as far as anyone was concerned, a normal household where lived a normal family. Christmas decor lithely adorned the doors and windows. Two inches of snow were piled on the rafters. The driveway was shoveled, and a couple of cars were parked nearby. A crooked snowman stood out front. The guest couldn't decide if the snowman was welcoming him or telling him to go away.

He rang the bell. Terry McGinnis and his three-day stubble opened the door. "Glad you could make it, Bart."

"Glad to be here," the speedster replied. He looked quite different out of his uniform. Strawberry blonde hair slicked back, with two rings on his right ear and a gold ball-piercing above his left eyebrow made him look like a regular punk. He handed Terry a couple of gift-wrapped boxes. "This is from Clark, and this is from Mareena."

"Thanks," Terry took the presents and ushered him into the house. The presents were promptly placed under the nearby Christmas tree. "Is anyone else coming? How's everybody? How's Rex healing up?"

"Same old, same old," Bart replied. He spied Dana McGinnis in the open kitchen area with her and Terry's latest bundle of joy swaddled in a pink aztec-print sling on her chest. He waved to them in greeting, cheerily reciprocated. Turning back to the dark-haired man, in a lower voice he said, "Mareena and Kai-Ro are setting up the decorations for the League party tonight, and you're my excuse to get out of trash duty. Rex hasn't stopped by the Watchtower since his accident, although I heard he's on assignment right now."

"The barbecue is out back," Terry said. "My work colleagues are here. You've met them?"

He nodded. "Yep, I met them last time. No introductions necessary."

"Make yourself at home, then. You know where everything is." The other smiled warmly. "I need to help Dana with dessert."

"No problem."

The house had changed since his last visit. There were more stuff—mostly more kid-sized things such as a high chair, a play kitchen, a bike with training wheels. As always it felt cozy. Warm and welcoming. A true home. It amazed him no end how Terry managed to keep his day job and his family, yet still possessed the energy to go on midnight crusades. It was not unusual for superheroes to have real life partners, but many quit their alter egos the moment little ones got along the way.

Terry never did join the League, he thought with disappointment. He knew Superman had extended the invitation a couple more times over the years. After the next-generation Batman had declined thrice in total, the Kryptonian stopped asking. However, despite never enlisting with them in an official capacity, the Gotham Bat could be counted on for assistance whenever they needed him. Maybe it was just as well.

He knew that Dana knew of Terry's nighttime gig. She didn't know about his, or of their other League friends. It was possible that she may have figured some out, since Clark Kent's secret identity had not been secret for many years and Dana was no fool. But they never talked about it. In this business, for good reason, the guiding policy was to Don't Ask, Don't Tell.

He passed by the dining table overflowing with festive foods. He rubbed his hands gleefully in anticipation, "Alright!"

"Stop right there!" Dana shouted loudly from the kitchen, "Two plates! You can have as much food as you can fit on two plates, no more! Leave some for the other guests!"

"Yes, ma'am!" he shouted back. Under his breath, he added, "I ate before coming here, anyway."

He walked over to the stack of fancy white china, which had been set up at a smaller table near the double doors leading to the backyard. He heard people mulling around outside. As he was about to pick up a pair of utensils, he heard a different sound from deeper inside the house. Something like a muffled sob. He followed his ears until he reached the nursery.

Five-year old Michael, Terry's eldest, was sitting on the floor with his toys. He had his head slumped down into his arms.

"Hey," the speedster greeted. The child looked up.

"Bart!"

"What's up, little man? Enjoying your Christmas so far?"

"Mostly good," the little man admitted. Then his face fell. "Ever since my grandpa married Wonder Woman, he hasn't been visiting. He left early again today. They didn't even wait for the other guests." Bart frowned in thought. What did Michael mean? Didn't Wondy marry the billionaire? He noticed the toys on the carpet around the boy. Justice League action figures. Ah, so Michael was role playing. There were figures of the active founders—Superman, Wonder Woman, and the Martian Manhunter. There were Big Barda and Terry's Batman (although he was certain the child remained unaware that he was playing with a replica of his own father).

Okay, he could roleplay too. "Nah, that's impossible," he said as he sat down and grabbed an action figure in yellow and red. "Because Wonder Woman married the Flash."

Michael looked at him quizzically. "What? No, she married grandpa."

"Well, what if the Flash," he held the toy by the waist and made it pretend-run on the floor, "ran so fast he travelled back in time to stop your grandpa's wedding and married Wonder Woman himself?"

"You're funny. Flash is my second favorite hero ever."

He made a face. "And who, may I ask, could be better than Flash?"

"Batman, of course!"

He made another face. "But can Batman do this?" He made the speedy figure circle thrice around the Batman doll before pretend-kicking it with pretend-sound effects.

The boy was laughing now. "Oh, yeah? What if Batman takes out his batarang and..."

"Michael!" Dana's voice came from the direction of the corridor. "Time for lunch! Bart! I said you could have two plates, not that you can't have any. The food hasn't been touched!"

"Yes ma'am!" they replied at the same time.

"Coming!"

"On our way!"

* * *

The kids were visitors, not homeless, they found out—children of former homeless helped by the mission, who became volunteers themselves after their situations had improved. Lena talked to the families for a bit, then shooed the children off to play after making them promise to stick within sight of the adults. She then proceeded into an animated discussion with the volunteers. They talked about recruitment, construction, and management of additional funds. Then they went on to discuss everything in detail for hours, turning the ideas into concrete, actionable plans.

Rex checked his watch. Already past noon. They would have to rush if they still intended to visit every location on their list.

Something moved at the edge of his vision, and he turned his head to look. When did the two kids become three? He quickly scanned the room, and noticed two men leaning against the far wall. A tanned brunette of mixed race, stocky build and medium height, and a tall, slender dark-blonde. Their business casual attire indicated that these men were neither volunteers, nor homeless. They held hands, and seemed to be waiting.

The discussion was over. The volunteers left with their families as they made plans for a late lunch, which Lena, to their disappointment, would not be able to join As she made to go on her own way, the men approached her. Rex, on alert, stepped forward until he was by her side.

"Hello," said the girl. "Can I help you?"

The taller of the two men spoke first. "Miss Luthor," he said in an amiable tone, "We heard you'd be here today." He introduced himself and his companion. Like some of the volunteers, they too were former homeless helped by Lena. Not by the mission, but by a different charity affiliated with the Wayne-Luthor food program.

Rex was close enough to covertly scrutinize the couple. The taller man looked to be in his early 40s, with streaks of white in his hair and a slight sag to his skin reminiscent of someone who had lost weight possibly from sickness, but was now on the way back to health. The other was younger, in his late 30s, and he too showed subtle signs of a person who had recently pulled through some tough times. Both men, he observed, were now clearly doing better. What they said seemed to check out, and he stood more at ease.

"Thanks to you," the dark-haired man spoke in turn, "not only did I manage to get back on my feet, but," he motioned to the remaining kid, who then ran over to them, "we were finally able to adopt him."

"We'd like to give back," the other handed Lena an envelope. "It's not much, I'm afraid."

"Thank you very much," Lena said. It was evident from her expression that she was touched. "I promise you this will be put to good use."

They said their goodbyes. The two men smiled at each other. They each took a hand of their adopted son, then walked off together. The little boy gave a final wave before they exited through the doorway.

Rex, whose presence seemed be forgotten, watched them walk out. He bided his time, while he heard some funky sounds coming from his ward.

"They had so much love, Rex," she said brokenly. "So much love." Deadpan, he pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her, politely ignoring the trickle of fluids flowing from her eyes and nose. She snorted into cloth in a very unladylike manner.

* * *

 **A/N** : Shout out to BruDia and Arro for providing the author fuel for this chapter.

 **Halfway mark, so it's Q &A time! Infrequently Asked Questions**

 _Will there be more Wonderbat?_  
Yes! Because, in this universe, without Wonderbat Bruce would already be dead from old age.

 _Well, where is it?_  
Sorry! It's coming, promise.

 _Will there be a happy ending?_  
Of course! Because I don't know how to write non-happy endings.

 _Wait, there's an ending?_  
Yes! I wrote the final scene even before I wrote chapter 2. I just have trouble filling in the in-betweens.

 _Why is it called Tangent Space?_  
It's a mathematical/computer graphics term that refers to a special kind of real vector space, which incidentally is how I imagine multiverses to work. Bonus: it's word play on "Alternate Universe."

 _The episodes are short!_  
Yeah! Sorry about that, but I don't have the writing skill to prolong a story before it starts to get boring. I figured four chapters per arc (equivalent to a 30 min TV episode) keeps the ball rolling.

 _Is the Justice League fan mentioned in chapter 15 the same guy who kidnapped Bruce in chapters 2-4?_  
Yes.

 _Does that mean Bruce contacted Lena behind the scenes and instructed her to help the medical mission mentioned in chapter 4, but kept all details about his involvement (both with the bad guy and with the charity) unknown from the public somehow?_  
Yes. In case you missed it. I mean, this is just a crappy™ fanfic, I'm not expecting you to remember all the details. I wouldn't.

 _What is Purple's name from chapter 11?_  
Dunno. We won't see her again so I didn't bother giving her a name. I tried to keep all OCs to a minimum. All the OC villains are petty criminals, so they'll pop up for a couple of chapters max and then they're gone forever.

 _How old is Terry/Matt/Rex/Mareena/the Titans?_  
Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon are in their 60s. The Titans are roughly the same age. Terry and Rex are in their 30s. Matt is 9 years younger than his brother (23?). Mareena is 27ish and Lena is 25. I try not to think too hard about it. It makes my brain melt. Sometimes a little suspension of disbelief is necessary, I'm sorry.

 _What continuity does this story belong to anyway?_  
Justice League Unlimited and Batman Beyond animated series crossed with Gal Gadot/Lynda Carter/Comics-Golden-Age Diana, because this story only works with 3000-year old Diana. Other than that, I tried to keep true to Batman Beyond canon. I am intentionally ignoring the official Beyond comics.

 _Why are you ignoring the Beyond comics?_  
Because I feel that it had reduced Wonder Woman's character to being defined solely by her love interest. The comics actually inspired the early parts of Tangent Space in the sense that "this is how I think Wonder Woman should have been portrayed instead."

 _Why choose the Beyond continuity, then?_  
Because any Wonderbat I would write during the JL era gets written out during the events of Beyond. I wanted a close-to-canon permanent happy ever after, and that can only occur after Batman Beyond.

 _Why 3000-year old Diana?_  
Because I do not see the JL canon 23-year old Diana taking a chance with old Bruce. On the other hand an ancient Diana, who has seen many generations of men come and gone, would grab him with both hands. Also, I think ancient Diana is far more interesting; even immortals have room for character development.

 _Where did Lena come from? Didn't Luthor get sucked into that space wall 40 years before Batman Beyond?_  
That's what the wiki says. But he didn't officially die, so maybe he came back for a short time 25 years ago and that's how Lena popped up. It's not relevant to the story so I haven't thought about it. I really just needed another protagonist, and I wanted a cute girl, and it was a toss-up between Lena, Mareena and Raven. I went with Lena because she and LexCorp had more possibilities.

 _Butbutbut Warhawk/Mareena!_  
Yes! Isn't that canon?

 _Why Bart Allen/Impulse as the Flash?_  
Because Danica Williams hadn't been introduced when I started on this fic.

 _Is Superman getting a love interest?_  
Yes and No! I ship him with Amaterasu the sun goddess. She won't appear until another hundred years later, so Supes stays Forever Alone in this story.

 _Did you just say 100 years?_  
Yes.

 _Where's Wally?_  
Retired. He retired to a different era, so he's Somewhere in the timestream. Yes, he is still alive and well. I made up my mind just now, he's in 1950s Hawaii.

 _Will Bruce and Diana have children?_  
Helena Wayne in canon is Bruce and Selina's kid, but here she is Bruce and Diana's. She is not in this story and I am not writing pregnant Diana because it's not my thing (a lot of great fanfics have already explored that scenario and there is nothing I can add anyway). Helena will make a cameo in the distant finale.

 _Where are the zombies? The ninjas? The dragons? The zombie ninja dragons?!_  
We're getting there.


	16. Cold Hands: What We Do Best

**Cold Hands, Warm Heart** : What We Do Best

* * *

The theme for this year's Justice League Christmas party was 'Retro Candy'. The tables had been moved to the sides of the watchtower cafeteria to provide party space. Pastel streamers and balloons hung on the walls and ceiling. Mareena had somehow dug up 1960s movie posters, which were tastefully placed all around.

Barda had done a great job with the catering. A huge table hugged one of the walls, overflowing with healthy and not-so-healthy food. There was enough for everyone, even for the Flash's humongous metabolism, although the speedster had told them he was skipping the party for "familial obligations." The martian suspected the Allen boy simply wanted to avoid trash duty.

J'onn J'onzz observed the festivities while munching on a bowl of oreos.

This year the party had games. Ravager and Cyborg were leading opposing teams in charades. The score was currently tied.

Halfway through his bowl, he sensed something amiss. The party seemed to be missing around 120 kilograms worth of Kryptonian dear leader.

He put his empty bowl down on the counter for used plates, then made a beeline for the monitor womb. He phased through the walls, careful not to disturb the pipes and circuits. His suspicions had been correct. When he got to his destination, he saw Clark at his terminal. He materialized beside his friend, who acknowledged him with a nod.

"Crime doesn't stop for Christmas," the Kryptonian explained. "In fact there are evildoers down there who would take advantage of the festivities for their nefarious deeds."

Crime was at an all time low. Clark knew this best. He of all people should be the least paranoid, and out there celebrating with the rest. J'onn found the other's behavior a bit unsettling.

"Oh, who am I kidding? Nothing is happening tonight." He indicated his terminal. The text feeds showed a minor looting in Central City, already handled by local police. Melbourne, Tokyo, Seoul, Beijing, Moscow, Amsterdam, Lagos, Buenos Aires, Paris, London, New York, Los Angeles—all clear. Gotham was out of their jurisdiction. Metropolis and Star City were also quiet.

J'onn and Mr. Terrific had crunched the numbers recently. Criminal incidents had been going down by at least two percent per year for the past decade. With violent crime, the steady reduction was even greater. In fact, nowadays the League was just as often rescuing people from natural disasters instead of outright chasing after malefactors.

"There might come a time when the Justice League will not be needed."

"Perhaps," J'onn agreed, somewhat hesitantly. "Although I think it is exactly the Justice League's presence that has made the world the way it is today. The entire world thanks you for it."

"Where is Diana? This will be the first Christmas party she has missed in a long time."

"She's leaving with the Lantern Corps contingent in a couple of days, so she said she wanted to spend more time with Bruce."

Clark turned back to his terminal. The text feeds moved, ever so slowly.

After a while, the martian asked, "Are you alright?"

"You can sense my jealousy?"

"It is quite acute."

The man of steel crossed his arms over his chest and bowed his head in a rare display of dejection. "I've mourned my wife for ten years, and my son for thirty. Why can't I still move on?" He shook his head in a failed attempt to clear his thoughts. "Bruce, Diana… I want to be happy for them. I really do. But whenever I think of them together, I can't help but also think, why couldn't that have happened to me?"

* * *

Nightfall in Gotham.

It had been a long day for the Amazon princess. Her first conjugal Christmas eve was being spent attending party after mandatory party courtesy of her newly-immortal spouse.

She was no stranger to parties. Socialization had been part of her duties during her short stint as the Themysciran ambassador to the United Nations, and as an occasional Justice League spokesperson. She had experienced nights like this during Bruce's youth: over fifty years ago when the League had been newly founded, and again when they briefly dated in 2006.

Things used to be so different. Back then he had treated the parties as a means to an end, when there was always some kingpin to chase or a mastermind to spy upon. But it wasn't so tonight. The parties they attended that day were either award ceremonies or charity balls affiliated with the unquestionably successful Wayne-Luthor food program. Bruce was congenial as always—master of hiding his emotions as he was—but tonight she got the impression that he might be ...perhaps… genuinely enjoying himself? People surrounding him were at odds from the crowds he used to frequent. There were none of the clawing, two-faced gold diggers that she remembered with disgust. She wondered what had caused the change, and when it happened.

She finally saw him with a group of five girls. Their hair colors ran the gamut of the natural spectrum—blonde, light brown, redhead, brunette and black. They looked no older than university students.

She shook her head in disbelief. Her amazing husband. Eighty-four years old and still the colossal playboy.

The dark-haired girl stood closest to Bruce, and she spoke the most animatedly. Diana approached the group and placed herself on the brunette's side opposite from her spouse.

"Oh, Wonder Woman, Madam," the brunette said without skipping a beat, "I hope you're having a great evening. We shall leave. We don't want to be a bother."

"Please, stay." she hooked the girl's thin arm around her own muscular one. "I overheard you say guys say Shakespeare."

The girls twittered excitedly. The brunette explained, "Oh, yes. We've been discussing The Bard during our night classes."

"He was a good friend of mine," she said. Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow at her, and she wondered if it was surprise or something else she saw in his expression.

"Oh, wow!" "What was he like?" "Did his girlfriend really dress up as a boy—?"

"Did he write any poems about you?" the redhead wanted to know.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. "I don't think we should have this discussion around my husband. But let me tell you this," she removed the brunette's hand from her elbow. In one swift move she was on the girl's other side and had hooked the girl's other arm around Bruce's. "There is some truth to the rumors of the bard's ...preferences."

She waved goodbye with a one-sided grin as the girls oohed and aahed, while her mystified spouse glowered at her retreating backside.

* * *

Diana walked past the ice sculptures and the buffet tables towards the wall that was the focal point of the festivities. On it hung a photo collage featuring the three years of _No Hungry Home_.

She recognized a few of the images. Sometimes the food program's resources got directed into disaster relief operations which intersected with Justice League missions, so she saw Superman, Barda or Kai-Ro in the odd image. One particular photo caught her eye. She took a closer look, and to her surprise, she saw herself.

She guessed more than actually sensed Bruce approach her side. "That was quite a show, dearest. What's this about you and Sir William and how come I've never heard of—"

She waved him off and showed him the photo. "Bruce… why am I here?"

He blinked, as if reorienting himself after the sudden change of topic. "Don't you recognize it?"

She frowned thoughtfully. "This is from the coverage of the Algerian Superquake in 2052. It's got nothing to do with the food program."

"That is the photo that started it all, and I always ask the volunteers who create these collages to include it. It is no coincidence that our food program launched in Algiers. You and Green Lantern led the rescue teams during the quake aftermath."

"But this photo only has me and children in it."

"You like children, don't you? Clark and Kai-Ro are very friendly to children too. A lot of Leaguers are, come to think of it. But you go out of your way for children."

"There are no children on Themyscira." She smiled sweetly at him. "They have always been a wonder to me."

Bruce took a breath. He explained, "When I saw that photo, it hit a nerve. After my stroke I had shut myself away, too proud to let you see the invalid I had become. Before I knew it, thirty years had passed. Terry had taken over my old job, he had his own _real_ family, and Gotham no longer needed me like it once did. The bouts of loneliness were overwhelming at times. But that photo made me realize there was much I could still accomplish. Although I could no longer—" _be Batman_ , he couldn't speak it aloud. Diana took his hand and squeezed it affectionately. She shook her head, indicating he need not go on, but Bruce continued, "—I could no longer perform physically-intensive tasks, I was still the head of a very large, very financially-able conglomerate." He raised the hand holding his own and pressed her knuckles to his lips. "In a way, you could say that I started all of this because of you."

She blushed, and smiled meekly. Even though she should know better, she could never resist his charms, especially when he focused them upon her in full force. He was exceptionally sophisticated in his Bruce Wayne persona, and she was quickly learning that deep down, he was all his personas at once. Unlike his youth, he no longer switched between one or the other.

"After the quake, I sent out letters to other multinationals, to ask if anyone would be interested in a collaboration on the relief efforts. Lena responded. With LexCorp's substantial assets added to my own, it dawned on me that we could do so much more than mere disaster relief. A few weeks and a lot of meetings later, _No Hungry Home_ was born."

She confessed, "I followed the food program saga in the news. I mean, even though we didn't talk for years, I still cared… I read about you in magazines every now and then. The food program had your name on it, so of course I read every article. Curious how they called it 'Wayne-Luthor', even though you were hardly ever mentioned. The media always focused on Lena."

"A pretty young blonde is a far more effective fund-raiser than a geriatric old man. The program would not have had my name at all if I could help it, but Lena refused to sign anything unless my name was listed first."

"Does Lena know about…?"

He nodded in the affirmative. "She visited the manor once, and sensed me five hundred meters underground. When I exited the bookcase, she was waiting. Coupled with a few notes from her father's files, she put two and two together."

Diana looked once more at the photo collage. Thousands of communities and millions of lives worldwide had benefited by the food program and its affiliated charities. On the wall there were a million smiles. A warm fuzzy feeling flickered deep within her belly. What a gift—for a gift it was—to know that she had inspired a chain of events so instrumental in making the world a better place.

She turned to him to ask a question, but stopped as she observed something. Someone. She pointed, and Bruce turned to look.

At the far end of the gallery walked an elegant old woman. She had a half-empty champagne glass in one hand, which she downed in one gulp. She handed the empty glass to a passing waiter as she made her way across the room, eventually stopping by the wall to observe the couples on the dance floor. As she walked, there was no mistaking the sway of her hips.

Selina.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go on, talk to her," Diana gestured him away.

He looked at her like he thought she was insane. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Shoo." And so he did.

As he turned his back to her, she suddenly felt very odd. She had just told him to go talk to an old flame. But no matter how anxious she became, she knew he would want the closure. They both would. It felt like the right thing to do.

* * *

Bruce was miffed as he walked over to Selina. Did nothing ever faze his princess? No matter how many or how pretty were the women he had on his arm, she never seemed to care.

Selina was the past, and he did not live in the past. Not anymore.

A generic waltz played over the speakers as he approached his former companion. Her midnight gown complemented the white of her hair, done up in a french knot to show off her nape. She was thinner than he remembered, but otherwise held her age well for a woman over seventy.

He tapped her on the shoulder. "Miss Kyle? Or is it a Mrs…?"

"Still a Miss Kyle," she answered, turning to him. She had recognized his voice and he saw no indication of surprise in her manner. She addressed him like they were old friends, as if no time at all had passed between them. "I'm here with my oldest grandson, whom you would be happy to know takes nothing after me." She held her hand out. "This slow dance has our names on it. Come on."

He took her hand, and before he knew it he had his arm around her waist and they were twirling about with the other couples in the middle of the room. "You're as graceful as ever, Selina," he observed. She gently gripped his shoulders as he lead her across the floor.

Her voice was soft and age-worn. "As are you, Bruce. You're just as handsome as I remember you."

He shrugged. "I never thought of myself as good-looking, not even when I was in my prime. Girls were attracted to either my money or… my intrigue."

"You don't have movie-star looks, I'll give you that. Do you think that ever mattered?" Like a cat, her eyes narrowed to disdainful slits. "All these years and all those lovers and you still don't understand women. You still think that none of us truly loved you simply for who you are? You think your metahuman wife would tie herself to you for eternity on a whim?"

"Actually, that's pretty much how it happened."

"Ever the fool. Poor Diana, I don't envy her at all." She rolled her eyes and looked away from him to observe other dancing couples. They remained quiet for the rest of the waltz. Oddly, the silence did not feel so awkward. Perhaps there was simply nothing more to say.

Selina smirked slyly. "I always thought that if I couldn't get you to settle down, nobody else could. Imagine my surprise when I was proven wrong. At our age, too. I don't feel too bad about it, considering I lost to a living Greek goddess. Kiss me again for old time's sake?"

He thought twice about it. He eventually decided that a kiss between them would be inconsequential. Hesitantly, he leaned his face close towards her cheek.

A _CRASH!_ followed by a surprised _Great Hera!_ came from the direction of the buffet tables. Several waiters promptly headed in the direction of the noise.

Bruce stopped prone. He instead took Selina's hand and kissed it lightly. They both knew this was farewell. "Please excuse me. I think my superhero wife just knocked over the ice sculptures." He hurried over to the commotion.

Wonder Woman, while admiring an ice sculpture, had accidentally knocked it over into a punch bowl and was profusely apologizing to the servers. Fruit punch had spilled everywhere. The adjacent buffet table was ruined, and one side of her pure silver gown had large splotches of deep pink. A waitress was trying her best to comfort the Amazon, assuring her that accidents happened and everything was alright, that were used to it and this was no trouble.

Diana seemed to calm down as the others started cleaning up. However, he could see the telltale flush on her ears that indicated her chagrin. She was making the face she made when she wanted to slug someone she wasn't allowed to.

His princess was jealous. She was actually jealous of a seventy-year old woman.

"Send me the bill," he handed a young waiter his business card while he simultaneously grabbed a folded sky-blue runner off of the nearest empty table. He reached his frustrated companion and deftly wrapped the tablecloth around her shoulders like a blanket. He carefully escorted her outside, pausing only to signal the valet to retrieve their car.

As they stood by the curb waiting for their ride, he whispered into her ear, "I'm cancelling the rest of our plans tonight. We are going back to the manor right now. When we get home, I am ripping that dress off and fucking you into next week."

"What?!"

He immediately kissed her mouth, in a supreme gesture of self-preservation, keeping her off-guard before she remembered what her illustrious fists were capable of doing best.

* * *

Rex parked carefully in the lot outside a three-story brick building. They were running late. Almost midnight. Last stop on Lena's list. They were finally back in Metropolis.

"I need to make a quick phone call," he told her as she opened the passenger door to get off. "I'll be with you in five."

"Sure." She pointed behind her. "Once you pass the entrance, turn right. Office is the second door on your left."

As soon as the passenger door closed behind the LexCorp CEO, he scanned the car interior for any marks that would identify the car owner. Satisfied there were none, he straightened on his seat and pulled out his smartphone.

Time to call the folks.

He couldn't tell his parents about his current mission. Even if the information hadn't been classified, he wouldn't tell them anyway. His mom, especially, kept grudges. After getting pulled out of early retirement on Thanagar about twenty-six years ago to help suppress yet another supervillain coup d'etat, they've got a pretty big grudge against Lex Luthor. He didn't know if said grudge extended to the next generation. Neither Superman nor Wonder Woman bore a grudge against Lena, certainly. But his parents? He decided he didn't want to find out.

John and Shayera Stewart's visages appeared on his phone screen. He noticed his father had dyed his hair black again, otherwise John seemed hale and in superb health. Shayera, full-blooded Thanagarian with a lifespan of 200 years, looked no older than a 40-year old human. They were obviously not overcome with rapture to hear from him.

'Mom, Dad, Merry Christmas," he greeted.

"How is your arm? Did you get the cast off yet?" his father asked.

"Why are you calling us from a car?" his mother wanted to know.

"You're supposed to be here, with family, right now," John Stewart said sternly. "What are you doing that is so important you can't leave it, yet not important enough to be official League business?"

"Sorry, Dad. Bodyguard duty, life and death thing. I'll try to get someone to sub for me on boxing day."

"Make sure you do."

Shayera interrupted, "So, what is this special assignment? Who are you guarding?"

"That's classified, Mom."

"I certainly hope he's been behaving himself."

"She has been very cooperative."

"Grand matriarch or royal spoiled brat?" Shayera never let up.

"Business executive, twenty-five."

"Oooh. Is she pretty?"

 _Plain and sometimes irritating_ , he immediately thought. "Very pretty," were the words that instead came out of his mouth. "She's got her quirks but you'd love her." As he said it, he realized it was true. Brutal efficiency was a trait that Lena and his mother shared. If only she had a different last name

After a few more pleasantries, he quickly said his goodbyes with a promise to contact them again very soon. The call might have took seven minutes instead of the intended five.

With brisk steps he followed Lena's directions towards the office. It was empty. He closed the door. Walking a little faster, he checked the nearby unlocked rooms. All empty. A sudden dread rose like bile at the back of his throat.

He headed back towards the lobby. The canteen door just opposite the entrance was open. Inside, an elderly janitor was mopping.

He urgently asked, "Did you see a blonde girl pass by here?"

"Nope, nobody. Eh, wait… Miss Lena did. She seemed kinda sick so her friend took her home."

"Friend?"

"Chubby guy." The janitor made a motion around his waist like he was outlining a hula hoop. "They went out back."

He ran.

The back door opened to a thicket. No way, they couldn't have gone in there. Especially not if the guy had drugged Lena unconscious, as the janitor's description implied. Getaway vehicle? He remembered seeing a red pickup truck when he had parked earlier. The man must have timed their exit when Rex went indoors. With a mental curse, he ran around outside to the front of the building as fast as his feet would go.

Sure enough, the other vehicle was gone. The only car remaining in the parking lot was the beat-up LexCorp company Volvo.

* * *

 **A/N** : Special thanks to Archie Goodwin for the beta.


	17. Cold Hands: Extreme Prejudice

**Cold Hands, Warm Heart** : Extreme Prejudice

* * *

It was a sunny Christmas morning in Metropolis. At a regular house, in a regular suburban neighborhood, two regular people were having Christmas breakfast. The regular man, albeit a bit on the big-boned side, seemed to be having the time of his life as he regaled the aptly-listening regular blonde girl with stories from his youth.

The front door imploded as Rex Stewart bodily smashed it with his Nth-metal mace.

The chubby man squeaked, then immediately found himself face-down on the ground in an arm lock with a glowering wingless half-Thanagarian pressing a heavy knee on his back. Two policemen followed in through the busted door, pistols held at the ready. They lowered their guns when they were satisfied there were no others in the kitchen. As per standard operating procedure, they set about inspecting the house's other rooms. One of them quickly radioed to their station for backup.

Rex turned towards Lena, who hurriedly put her steaming teacup down. She held the first two fingers of her left hand up in a peace sign. "I'm okay, Rex. I'm not hurt at all. Sorry if I worried you. Technically he did kidnap me for ransom so, uhm, yes I would like to press charges."

He took a deep breath to keep himself from ranting at the girl, who wasn't taking her situation seriously enough. Instead, using his good arm, he pulled out his communicator. The newer commlinks had additional functions, including taking photos. He snapped one of the suspect's face. He clicked several buttons and then moved the comm near his mouth. "J'onn, I need ID on our suspect. Sending the image now."

From the other side he heard an affirmative. "Give me several minutes. I'll send it to you."

"Thanks."

He roughly pulled at his captive's collar. "Who hired you to kill Lena?"

"What? No one hired me. I just really need the money." The man snorted, incredulous. "Kill Lena? Why in the world would I want to kill Lena Luthor? She's worth a king's ransom alive."

Rex frowned. Beside him, the cops were taking Lena's statement. Sirens blared as police backup arrived. Soon, the house was full, and Rex cooperated as he let the local authorities take over the crime scene.

* * *

On New Year's eve, the Atlantean Princess gazed out of the earth-facing windows of the Watchtower monitor womb. The watchtower was mostly empty, with just enough staff to keep their base ready for emergencies. There were no active missions at the moment. Crime had been remarkably slow, and Superman had approved almost everyone's holiday leave.

Aquagirl glanced at the clock. It was approaching midnight, Eastern Pacific Time. Mr. Terrific won't be on shift until another eight hours.

"Hey." Bart, in his full uniform, appeared beside her. "It's pretty quiet. Weren't the Green Lanterns supposed to group up here today or something?"

"That was yesterday," Mareena corrected him. "They already left."

"Who went?"

"From us, Wondy is the team lead." She ticked off on her fingers. "Static Shock, Beastman, Raven."

"The Titans. Oh, yeah," Bart remembered. With a blur, he momentarily disappeared and reappeared with a couple of gift-wrapped boxes. He handed them to her, and she accepted gratefully. "Belated presents from Mr. and Mrs. McGinnis. Still no word from Rex?"

"No, not since his accident." She turned to look out the window. Her melancholy was clear.

The Flash joined her in gazing at the view of their home planet. He asked simply, "Is that why you volunteered for monitor duty while everyone else is out celebrating with fireworks?"

"Maybe."

"2057." He repeated the number aloud several times. "There's something I need to remember about the year 2057."

"Why? Is anything big gonna happen soon?"

"Yeah, big enough that it made the primary school history texts." He pursed his lips sheepishly. "Shame I was such a bad student."

"Is it a good thing or a bad thing?"

"I can't remember," Bart answered, scratching his head. "Probably bad."

Mareena made a face. "Is Braniac, Darkseid or Doomsday coming back again? You know, it's funny how one of Superman's most powerful villains can't even spell his own name right."

"I really can't remember."

"Well, we'll just stop them, I guess. Humanity certainly survived or you wouldn't exist," she grinned as she pointed out the obvious.

He added, "I could be wrong about the year too."

"You can always pop back to the future to read about it, can't you?"

"Nah. I'm lazy," he grinned back. "2057 is already here anyway. We'll find out soon enough."

* * *

At the LexCorp residential penthouse in Metropolis, Rex switched his communicator off. He turned towards his ward, who was sitting on the sofa with her laptop.

"That was Superman," he explained. "Good news. Green Arrow just caught the perpetrator who put up your and Oliver Harper's bounties. Any would-be assassins should quit gunning for you soon. But it'll take a while for this to spread through the grapevine, so I need to stay with you for maybe a week more."

"Coolio," Lena replied without looking up from her machine.

He thought she would have been more excited. Nevermind. He walked over to the refrigerator to grab a drink. He had recently discovered that he enjoyed the bitterness of a pale pilsen. "Hey, Lena. Want a beer?"

"Thank you. Pass."

"You sure?" he asked. "Come on, it's New Year's Day. Celebrate a little."

"I'm sure."

He shrugged, took a can of cheap supermarket beer, and made himself comfortable on his side of the sofa. He turned the wall-mounted LED TV on and grabbed his game controller. The Bethesda company logo spun on screen, and before long he was lost in the game's virtual world of Tamriel. Since last week, he had moved the video game console from his room into the den. Partly because he didn't enjoy television much, but more because the living room screen was bigger. Lena didn't mind, since she was always on her laptop anyway. He almost got her to play Mario Kart once, but no dice. Hey, if he got to play video games on the job he wasn't about to complain.

Without warning, the screen blacked out. He turned quizzically to the girl. Her hands were steady as she held the remote pointed to the TV. She abruptly stood up.

"Rex, you have to trust me, and this is very important. It's a matter of life and death. You need to stand here," she pointed to an oddly specific spot beside her, "and you need to kiss me right now."

He frowned in confusion. "What?" Was this a joke? What kind of game was she playing now? Lena had delivered the lines with a complete poker face, but the request was so strange, and he had seen enough of her quirks that he couldn't tell if she was serious or not.

"Just do it. Life and death, remember!"

So business-like, while she asked him for a kiss. Before he knew it he had stood up to stand where she indicated. He leaned down to peck her on the cheek.

"On the lips, please!" she insisted.

To the end of his days he would never understand what was in that moment that made him give in to her demands. He only met her two weeks ago. He barely knew her. She constantly got on his nerves. He hadn't decided if she was the kind of person he wanted to keep as an acquaintance, let alone as a friend.

He kissed her lips and she shivered at the contact. She raised her hands and slid them along his jaw, pulling his face closer, forcing him to bend down to her level. Without warning, she felt him up. One touch, over quickly. He was so shocked at the move that she was easily able to push him down onto the couch without breaking their kiss. She gasped as they fell. She gingerly pulled away. And then she whispered, in a voice as cold as the winter wind, "I knew it was coming. Please don't ever blame yourself."

What was coming? Why would he blame himself?

She suddenly fell against him. As he caught her, he felt a wetness at her side. When he raised his hand, to his horror, it was covered with bright crimson blood.

 _It takes extreme prejudice to pull a trigger to take someone's life,_ Lena's words echoed in his mind. _I can sense that from kilometers away._

Carefully, he laid her down on the couch, keeping her level and making sure she could breathe easily. He bodily pushed the sofa behind some nearby furniture—out of the line of sight of the terrace doors from where the gunshot likely came from. He didn't want to risk her getting hit again. He then rushed to the wall and smashed his fist on the alarm button.

First things first, stop the bleeding. Lena was awake. "I think I'm okay," she told him, trying to be cheerful. "I don't hurt anywhere."

He ignored her, instead searching her abdomen for wounds, and found only one. No exit wound. Chance of internal bleeding. He pressed his palms against her injury to keep the blood from flowing.

The door opened, and Lena's secretary and several aides rushed in. The secretary gasped once, then quickly ran to her employer. She turned to Rex.

"We're all trained," she told him. "Paramedics are on the way. We'll take it from here."

* * *

Rex ran out to the the terrace. He could still catch the assassin. One arm outstretched, with his bad arm pressed close to his body, he jumped. The Thanagarian Nth-metal wings expanded on his back, catching the wind, wider than the open double doors of the penthouse he was quickly leaving behind. In his regular clothes, without his armor, the winter air stung his face and skin as he flew. He ignored the discomfort just as he forcefully stamped down the anger invading his thought processes. Time for that later. Straight as an arrow he flew for the rooftops of the adjacent city block.

At the top of an industrial building, he found the remnants of a sniper's nest. A couple of mounted rifles were still in position—non-military grade, obvious enough to him. The assassin had intentionally left his gear behind in the rush to escape. Rex looked around for the latter's most likely route, and saw a door leading inside the building.

He called into his comm. "I know this is a long shot, but I will give you a LexCorp building address and Lena Luthor's access codes. Can you find out which employees went to work during the holiday and which one is most likely fake? I got an assassin on my hands. Lena's been shot."

"I'll try," answered Mr. Terrific. Rex sent the data via commlink and waited expectantly. After several anxious minutes, he got a reply, "Found him. There's almost no data traffic today so he's sticking out like a sore thumb. Let me send you a photo."

* * *

A dark man in nondescript civilian clothing nonchalantly exited the LexCorp building. He didn't get far.

Warhawk landed immediately in front of him, wings wide, intimidating in a quiet rage. The man froze briefly, then quickly reached for a hidden glock on his waist holster. Rex was faster. With a one-handed swing of the Nth-metal mace, the assassin found himself sprawled face-up on the tiled concrete floor.

Rex roughly turned him over to lie on his front. He grabbed the other man's arms and willed his mace into a pair of handcuffs, which he promptly used.

The man laughed mirthlessly. "Just my luck. Warhawk. The bodyguard is Warhawk. I thought you were special, but I didn't realize you were _that_ special. LexCorp is in cahoots with the Justice League, huh? Nowhere in my research did I see even a hint of that." He shook his head ruefully, "I never miss. Your little empath sensed I was targeting you and decided to play hero."

"You targeted _me_?"

"I knew my escape would go much better if I killed you first. She'd have been easy to take down after you were out of the picture."

Rex pulled out his communicator. He heard Mr. Terrific's acknowledgement, "Yeah?"

"Got him. I'm at the east side of the building. Send backup stat."

He put the comm down. He couldn't keep himself from kicking the downed man's flank, just once on principle. Almost as an afterthought, he retracted his Nth-metal wings and plopped down on the floor beside the tied-up assassin. He lowered his head, frustrated he could do no more.

It was a waiting game now. Without a care, the wind was blowing.

* * *

 **A/N** : Lotsy, you are a true inspiration, sometimes I think you are capable of holding the entire BMWW fandom on your shoulders. *lies down at Lotsy's feet*

PrinceWayne and BruDia, thank you for leaving reviews. You guys keep us writing.

Soresu, thank you for the review, and I'm honored, and happy that you enjoyed it so far :D I'm sorry, I may have exaggerated on the ninja zombie dragons. I only have medically-accurate 'zombies' here. Nothing compares to Blue Eyes White Dragon.

Shoutout to Archie Goodwin, you're a hardarse but you're always right.


	18. Cold Hands: No Choices

**Cold Hands, Warm Heart** : No Choices

* * *

Over a week passed before Rex was finally allowed to visit Lena Luthor while she recovered from her near-fatal wound at the Greater Metropolis Medical Center. The rest of the New Year holiday had come and gone uneventfully. He visited his parents on Thanagar for a few days. When he returned to earth, he finally went and had his cast removed at the Watchtower medical bay.

As he entered the Metropolis hospital, he carried a bouquet of roses, of the same variety he had seen at the LexCorp entrance square during the day they first met. He figured he couldn't go wrong with yellow roses.

She was sitting up when he arrived at her room, her eyes busily plastered to her laptop screen, as usual. He cleared his throat, and she turned to him, flustered. Her mouth dropped open as if to say something, but she closed it again quickly.

"Why did you do it like that, Lena?"

She hung her head. "I wanted a kiss. I like you, a lot, if I haven't already been obvious about it," she admitted softly. "I wanted to make sure you didn't suspect anything until it was over. Maybe there's a part of me that wouldn't mind dying for a cause. I've already seen death from my trips abroad. I don't know." Her expression hardened. "Anything else?"

"Not really." He walked to the table near the window. He briefly searched for anything he could use as a vase, after finding none, he simply laid the bouquet down. She got annoyed.

"I'm not in the mood for small talk, Rex. Your mission to protect me is over, and you did an exceptional job all things considered. Why are you still here?"

He frowned angrily as he turned to her. "Am I not allowed to just visit you?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "A lot of guys have courted me. Almost all of them, I could sense were just after my money. The rare few wanted me for my body. You're the only one who has ever liked me just for being me."

Ah, so that was it. Suddenly he was irritated at her, then irritated at himself, and then irritated at life in general. He let it pass. "You know, until you told me just now, I wasn't even aware I liked you." He shrugged, then unceremoniously sat down on the chair by the hospital bed in resignation. "But I suppose it's true."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

He showed her.

* * *

"I don't want to hear excuses, Clark. _She got shot._ No one gets shot on my watch. It's unacceptable," Bruce glowered at his secure landline.

Superman had several things to say to him. He retorted, "I triple checked her security details—" He did a double-take. "She dismissed them at the last minute?" His grip on the receiver tightened. "I suppose not. I should've made sure they reported directly to me." Not that it would have made a difference, given the timing. He made a mental note to have a long talk later with the girl about this.

He then asked the Kryptonian a question much closer to home, "Any word from the Lanterns?" There was a long pause from the other end. Negative. Without further ado, he hung up.

The house was eerily silent. Kevin and Ace had retired for the night. Almost nothing in the manor had changed in the past several years.

With Selina, he had always known when she was in his residence. There was the stray scent of too-strong perfume. An unpaired silk stocking, deliberately planted to taunt him. With Barbara, it would be a random stack of university notes, or a forgotten, half-eaten biscuit.

With Diana and her Spartan habits, there was nothing out of place.

Was that a thing with Greek goddesses? They leave no physical traces of their passing.

* * *

On the barren, adobe plains of Scadrial, Wonder Woman knelt. She closed the young Lantern's eyes.

He was Karm Toren of Karazia. Humanoid, yellow-skinned and green-eyed, he spoke little and rarely smiled, but when he did it was sincere. He had insisted on going on this mission, despite his ring's lack of usefulness on the planetary surface. He had known the risks. They all did. Now, Karm would risk nothing ever again.

His sacrifice was not in vain. The rest of their team had managed to escape unscathed with the refugees.

"You really shouldn't turn your back to me, you know," her opponent surmised. "It's just common sense."

Diana stood up. "Hello again, Dolos," she addressed her ancient enemy, the Duke of Deception, by his primeval name. She could think of a myriad other retorts. _Hi, it's been a while. I never did get to ask what exactly brought you here to the other side of the galaxy. What moniker do you go by now? How was hell and Hades? How did you survive a stab through the heart?_ None of his answers mattered to her, really. Besides, asking might just provoke him into a villain monologue, which would be useless coming from the master of lies. So instead she said nothing.

Donna had been wrong. The Amazons' superhuman prowess might have been immune to the red planet's strange magic-skewing properties, but Wonder Woman had been very much affected. She had discovered it the hard way during the last time she fought the same enemy who stood before her now.

On Scadrial her lasso refused to tell the truth.

She clenched her fists in barely concealed anger. "I thought I killed you."

He put on a smirk that she wanted to wipe clean off his face. He answered, "You did. I just came back. Woah, woah," he raised his hands in mock surrender. "You plan to kill me again? Tut, tut. You're all so predictable. Especially you. You think your fists can solve everything."

She shook her head. "We don't have other options besides fists. There's no negotiating with people like you."

"Maybe," he conceded. "How about this. Like I told you last time, you should join me instead." He clasped his hands in front of himself. He stood waiting, thinking that she would attack first. "I know, I know. You're not even going to dignify me with an answer." He grinned wider when Diana didn't move. He extended his hands. Copies of himself appeared side-by-side, surrounding her in a tight circle. Shadows. Illusions. "However, you see, you really don't have a choice anymore."

Diana almost laughed. She didn't need the lasso to see through his illusory magic. Only the original glowed with power. Had he really thought he could stop her with his shadow clones?

There was some kind of medallion inside his chest. She could feel it pulsing with energy. Somehow she knew, it was the key to everything.

She blinked, momentarily confused. Why could she see it now, but not during their previous encounter? No matter. She would end him today.

She rushed at the real Duke and broke his arm. The illusions disappeared. His entire face contorted in pain as he stepped back, the bad arm dangling at his side. "Ah, shit, why can't you just make it easy for me. Just once." Abruptly, he straightened, facing her head on.

She punched her fist straight through his ribcage. He coughed once, but was otherwise unfazed by the gaping cavity in his chest that would be fatal on another.

"Much better. Believe me, I am going to enjoy this, Diana."

Too late did the nagging voice in her head warn her she had made a mistake. Much too late when she, as the demigoddess of truth, should have realized it from the beginning. Her lasso hadn't lied. The wrong powers were not wrong. The Duke of Deception had not been deceiving her before. All of it were real.

Her fingers closed about the medal. Acute pain exploded from the old wound on her left breast. She saw countless tangent universes, each extending unto infinity.

Everything turned red.

* * *

 **A/N** : That's it! We finally have the world-building episodes out of the way. Now, who's ready for more Wonderbat? :D Well, too bad, because up next is four chapters of over-the-top SMBM bromance.

 **A/N2** : To be honest, I didn't enjoy Black Flag and Cold Hands. I just really needed them, or the story wouldn't make sense. The Justice League isn't just about my favorite characters. They're a team, and there's an entire world that they live in. To me, wonderbat is bigger than just the two of them, and I need to write about the world in order to show that.

I have often wished that I never thought of Tangent Space. But I suppose I don't really want to leave it unfinished either.


	19. Into Next Week

**A/N: Graphic chapter warning. They're old married people. You can skip it.**

This is not a new chapter, it's been up on AO3 since 2016. But I think it's appropriate to post it tonight since it takes place during Christmas of 2056. For once I am posting an explicit chapter uncut. These events were a turning point in their relationship, at least from Bruce's perspective. This is how they love, and _I refuse to cut it out_.

* * *

 **Into Next Week**

 _Timeline: In the middle of Cold Hands, Warm Heart_

* * *

Bruce helped Diana disembark as their chauffeur dropped them off at the front of Wayne manor. He said, "I've never seen you jealous. It pisses me off, actually. No matter how many women I've been linked to, you just take it all in stride. Until tonight."

She faced him. "I know you don't care for the other women. Your time with Barbara had been borne more out of mutual desperation than any sort of true love. With Selina—you genuinely loved her. She'll always have that part of your life that I could never share."

He shouldn't lie to the demigoddess of truth. So he said honestly, "I did love her, a very long time ago. The are many parts of my life I wouldn't want anyone, no matter who, to share. But the best of my life is all yours, now and forever."

She couldn't help but chuckle. "You are extremely suave, do you know that?"

"Yes, and so do all the tabloids of Gotham." Of course he had to ruin the moment. "Now, let's proceed to the dress ripping and getting you fucked into next week part I promised." He picked her up in a princess carry before she could say or do anything.

As he carried her through the manor doors, he said, "I never did this before, haven't I? Traditionally, the groom carries his bride over the foyer on the first time a newly-married couple enters into their home. I was too weak during our wedding, and then the opportunity just never came up."

"You haven't, but I did this to you several times now," she grinned.

"I'm all in favor of equality."

"I like it." He gave her a questioning look. She clarified, "You carrying me for a change."

Given her hazardous day job, that statement held unfortunate implications. He frowned at her. "I hope the only time I ever have to carry you is when it's a prelude to sex."

"That's what I meant."

He put her down when they reached the master bedroom. She asked, "You're not serious about the dress ripping, are you? This is a Tadashi Shoji original!"

"I think the spilled punch already ruined it."

"I'm sure Kevin can manage to clean it," she replied. "I know you can afford a new one but this is my favorite."

He growled. "Less talking, more undressing." Without further ado he pulled her dress zipper down. "Not serious on the dress ripping. Completely serious about the 'into next week' part." She slid her stilettos off with her feet, then pulled her dress and let it drop to the floor. The punch had soaked through her underwear. He asked, "Shower? Or you don't mind dried punch? I'm okay either way."

"Too cold for a shower. What's a few more sticky fluids into next week?"

He kissed her full on the mouth as she took the rest of her underwear off. She set about to unbuttoning his shirt lapels while he removed his blazer and unceremoniously threw it behind him. Last button off. Really, she could just tear everything off but one did not survive the earth marching in armies without having a sense of practicality ingrained. She tugged at the sleeves and his shirt promptly went the way of his blazer.

At her full height, without heels, the top of her head barely reached above his chin. This meant her lips were level with his collar bone. She angled her head and suckled at the hollow of his throat, earning her a low growl. She let her hands roam his chest, pressing against his sinews. She loved the feel of his skin. Scars and all.

She traced a large scar downwards with her lips, kneeling, then kissed him where the scar ended just above the navel. She slid her hands around his waist and down his back, down and inside his waistband until she could press her fingers on the dimples above his buttocks.

They heard his pants seams rip. "Hold that thought," he said. He went over to her fallen purse and pulled out her lasso. "May I?"

"Yes, please," she answered huskily. If he bound her she could go wild without worry. He guided her so she sat on the edge of the bed. He knelt in front of her, a dark knight pledging allegiance to his sovereign lady. He wrapped the lasso loosely several times around her left ankle, then tied the ends together into a simple knot. His coal-black eyes locked into her blue ones, and he reverently kissed the inside of her knee.

She suddenly found herself blushing beet-red. She didn't know why—she was an ageless demi-deity sitting on their marriage bed where they had already made love many times, and blushing was such a schoolgirl thing to do. Everything about this man simply made her not act like her three-thousand year old self.

He smirked. "You love me." It was not a question.

"Uhm, duh?" Foot, meet mouth, she chided herself.

Suddenly he could no longer keep his hands off her. He stood up, and with the least number of required movements he kicked off his shoes, took off his pants, underwear and socks, then pounced. She squealed as he hooked his hands under her armpits and pulled her into the middle of the bed with him.

He pushed her down so she was flat on her back. He kissed her mouth, then gently slid his lips onto the pulse point on her neck. He licked, mildly at first. Then he sharply sucked in, causing her to gasp as he marked her with his mouth. The mark would stay while her lasso remained wrapped on her.

He put one hand between her legs. His fingers slid over her so slickly that she must be extremely wet, and she bit her lower lip in embarrassment at the evidence of how much her body desired him. What he could make her do just by existing. She grabbed at his shoulders and he thrust two fingers inside. She gasped, and her nails dug into his skin. In retaliation he pushed his fingers deeper, crossed them and twisted .

She howled. Her legs curled involuntarily and she raked her fingers across his back.

It felt good, sex without her powers. To be able to seize at him without having to restrain herself. He was strong, very strong, but only to human limits and nowhere near her metahuman levels. But with her own strength bound, she could clutch and grab and squeeze with no fear of accidentally breaking him.

He finally stopped when he got the inkling that she was about to faint.

As she attempted to regain her ability to breathe, he rolled her over so she faced down on the mattress with her legs bent underneath her torso. Oh, she knew where this was going, and she liked it.

He pushed, and she welcomed him, the pleasant, breaking tightness as he stretched her open. The sound of his breathless groan seemed to heighten her senses. He bent forward so his arms could go around her ribs, and she pushed back at him, meeting him stroke for stroke. He managed to reach inside her so deeply, she didn't believe it was possible.

His thrusts changed rhythm, again she didn't believe it possible, but he somehow managed to reach in even deeper. Maybe not deeper, but he was hitting something, and it felt incredible. He slid one hand down to massage her clit, and then she ceased to think at all. She screamed, her spine bent back and her internal muscles clenched so tightly she felt the ripples all the way to her arms and toes. He wasn't done, but he didn't last much longer. After several more thrusts his grip around her tightened and she felt him spill into her.

With a groan, and without releasing her, he rolled both of them to lay on their sides. His breath was warm on her neck.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered. "Sometimes I still have trouble reconciling with the fact you're here with me."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing. Instead she pulled at his arms so they wrapped around her more securely. He kept nibbling on her shoulder. She thought it sweet of him, and she wasn't complaining, but she found it rather unusual.

"It's pretty good," he said offhand.

"What is?"

"The punch. You got some on your shoulder here. I should get their caterer."

"Bruce!"

"Of course you taste better."

* * *

Bruce woke up a couple of hours later as his wife stirred against him. She must have sensed the change in his breathing. He found himself staring into wide-awake twin sapphires.

"Don't make me remove the lasso," she whispered, pleading. She pushed at him gently. He let her move him until he was lying on his back. She sat on his thighs, her knees straddling him, and used both hands to coax his arousal. To his surprise, it didn't take him long.

She repositioned and slid him inside her without further preamble, and he sucked in his breath through gritted teeth. She was pure heat. As she began to move up and down, building up their rhythm, she threatened, "This thing, this beautiful thing of yours from now on goes inside me and noone else's."

"Yes," he croaked as he thrust upward to meet each tortuous grind of her hips. "There's no comparison. There never has been." He reached to cup her face. He slid his hands to her nape, fingers twining into her dark tresses. He tugged at her, pulling her face down so he could claim her mouth. He made her swallow his tongue and his groans in time with each push below.

She was so tight, yet so soft. He could literally feel how much she wanted him—at how her body always instinctively curved towards his own, the way her silken flesh quivered every time it embraced him—and she was unaware she did it. She wanted him, clearly, and almost to the point of desperation. He had never felt it with any past lover. How could this immaculate, untouchable creature of light want him so much, that she would debase herself without thought to meet him as an equal in the darkest depths of the night where he belonged? And he had proof that she would do it only for him and him alone. Mine, his thoughts screamed, and it made him reach his edge much faster. He wasn't going to last. But she hadn't finished, no telltale glow, and he'd be damned if he came before he could make her do so.

He moved one of his hands to the small of her back, pushing her slightly downward to change their angle. He cursed into her mouth as he realized it had made him slide deeper into her heat, forcing him that much closer to his end. His thrusts became erratic. Her body shivered and she moaned, but didn't break their kiss. By sheer force of will he held on. He moved the hand on her back lower, until he could slide his fingers between her ass cheeks. He was so close. He found the puckered bump of skin he was searching for, and caressed it none too gently.

The glow came, her entire body seized up and she squeezed instinctively, and he was done. He made an unearthly sound and he clutched her hard. He released his seed into her womb in an intense wave of pleasure, his legs shaking uncontrollably with a final upward push.

The kiss broke. She exhaled, a breath she didn't even know she held, then fell upon him. She stirred and tried to roll off, but he held her in place. Keeping their bodies connected even as the throes of lovemaking faded away. "Stay, just like this," he commanded.

They stayed together until the morning sunlight streamed through the eastern windows. He didn't know it then, but this would be the last time they would make love in a very long while.


End file.
